The Specious Sibling Ultimatum
by MissLaurenV
Summary: Can he step back into his life and ruin everything? When things are starting to go just right for Sheldon and Amy, an unsuspecting sibling turns up to challenge the foundations of their relationship - and he knows exactly what he wants. Rated M for adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum**

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _I'm back! Hooray! My apologies for the delay in my next story; I know I promised you all something and it has been a tough few months—but I'm so ready for it now! Hope you enjoy the new piece, please read and review.

* * *

**Chapter One**

He _hated _sand.

It wasn't the gritty texture beneath his palms, or the salty scent that filled his nostrils. It wasn't the way each grain clung to his fingers as he moulded his castle with expert precision.

"Is that your _brother?_ What a loner…"

It wasn't even the fact that there was _so much of it_—millions, perhaps billions, of tiny particles just in the one sandpit. The sheer chaos of the inconsistent granules sent a shiver down his spine, but he pursed his lips and continued to sculpt.

"What's wrong with him? Is he, like, disabled or something?"

It was the way that—no matter what you did—it got _everywhere_; spreading like an abrasive, itchy disease that you were forever trying to rid yourself of.

"Hey _Shelly, _what've you got there?"

A broader, stronger figure eclipsed him into the afternoon shadows, and he craned his tiny neck to assess his tall assailant. In one swift movement, his fragile masterpiece was kicked to the ground, disintegrating before his eyes.

"Sand castles are for _babies_, you know."

It was the fact that—no matter how hard you tried—it was light enough to be swept away by a gust of wind; delicate enough to slip through your fingers, yet heavy enough to bury you to the point of paralysis.

"Come now, Shelly dear, let's get you out of this pit…"

Warm arms gripped him under his arms and he faced vision of floral fabric as he was lifted into the air. Her hands dusted over his legs, and he imagined the teeny shells and rock meeting their fate on the pavement below.

"Such a _momma's _boy, aren't you, Shelly?"

It was that—so she had told him—if you heated it up just right, it turned into cold, hard glass; still as fragile as its weaker form.

"What a weirdo."

Setting him down on the worn park bench, she knelt in front of him and cupped his swollen cheeks in her hands. The sun illuminated her brown hair like a halo and he squinted, looking past her to the sandpit where he _knew_ his handprint had been left behind—an imprint that could be as quickly brushed away.

"Don't you listen to those boys now, Shelly, you're nothing but special."

It was the fact that all you had to do was add a little clay and water and suddenly you were sinking.

* * *

He had absolutely no idea what had happened.

A week had flown by so casually since the incident—one whole week—and she had said nothing. He had said nothing, despite its looming presence; ever bubbling under the surface of his very existence.

Drawing in a long breath, he stared into his lap, the faded purple corduroy mapping its way down his thigh and tumbling over the cliff of his knee. He wrung his hands together roughly, and rolled his right palm upward, gazing at it as though it would reveal all the answers.

It wouldn't, he'd tried before.

He had been perched on the very edge of his seat, so close to her that he could feel their thighs touching lightly, sense her nervous breath drawing in and out. A masked anxiety had crawled up his throat, tugged on his spine and—in an evil instant—pulled the very string that sent him clutching for her dainty hand. It was warm, smooth, inviting—and he had held it there until something had screamed at him to jerk it away.

The creases of his palm looked back at him tauntingly, tiny chains linking the line together. How could this have happened? He knew better. He knew how to control himself, he _trusted_ himself to remain focused—and yet, in one fleeting moment of impulsion, it had all come crumbling down.

She had said nothing, indicated nothing. At the sensation of his clumsy grasp, he had heard her gasp, casting a shocked gaze in his direction. It matched his own intense astonishment; his body freezing and waiting on that awful moment where she demanded the meaning behind his actions.

He wasn't so sure himself.

Sighing, he pushed away from the comfort of his bed and pulled his blazer out of his closet, shrugging it onto his shoulders. If she wasn't concerned about his bold move, why should he be? If she didn't require an explanation, why even worry? He could push it out of his mind and go on with life as normal.

If he hadn't already tried that the last seven times.

"Get a grip, Cooper," he mumbled, making his way down the hallway and across to his desk. Tonight was date night—upgraded to every two weeks at Amy's written request—and she would arrive any moment. He had made a hasty reservation at a local Italian restaurant the evening prior when he suddenly realised the potential threat of dining at his girlfriend's apartment; he would _not _allow her to corner him again. Her scrumptious cooking, her 'romantic' dinner music, her downright enchanting smile—it was all a ruse; a stitch in the weave of her devilish plan.

"Vixen," he hissed with a smile, slinging his bag across his body. No, he most certainly would _not_ allow her to wear him down again; it was quite clearly affecting his focus. At dinner, he would make polite conversation about his work, activities for the upcoming weekend, and watch on as she smiled adoringly back, cupping her hand under her chin, eyes bright…

"Sheldon!" A voice boomed from behind him, startling him out of his trance. Leonard wandered into the kitchen, an eyebrow raised in his best friend's direction. "You okay?"

Pursing his lips, Sheldon glanced back to his roommate, seemingly unfazed. "Fine."

Leonard smirked down into his leftover pasta and shook his head. "I called out to you three times before you even flinched, and you're telling me you're 'fine'?"

"Yes," Sheldon replied curtly, crossing to the counter where his smaller friend was shovelling food into his mouth. "You do realise that it has been four days since that pasta was first cooked—you could be devouring a steaming bowl of bacteria and foodborne illness right there—"

"You do realise," Leonard interjected through a mouthful, "that I don't care?"

Sheldon shrugged indifferently, eyeing the bowl sceptically. "Alright, it's your body—if you wake up during the night experiencing severe bouts of vomiting and diarrhoea don't come crying to me."

"Don't worry, I won't." Leonard dropped the bowl into the sink with a clang and leant his hip on the counter, arms folded across his chest. "Now stop changing topics and tell me what's wrong."

The lanky physicist fiddled with the strap of his bag, eyes locked on the floor in front of him. "I have no idea what you are referring to."

Ignoring him, Leonard tilted his head. "Is this about the whole handholding thing, because if it is—"

Sheldon cleared his throat loudly and widened his eyes, exasperated. "She is going to be here any minute, will you shut it—"

"For God's sake, Sheldon, just _talk_ to her. What's the worst that can happen?" Leonard said, drifting past his friend toward the couch.

"'What's the worst that can happen?'" Sheldon parroted, following him. "How about she asks if we can do it more often, or whether it can be upgraded to a closer form or physical contact? Or she points out the fact that I broke one of the rules _I _outlined in the Relationship Agreement? What if she asks _why?_"

Flopping into the armchair, Leonard reached for the television remote and clicked through the channels. "I don't know—try telling her the truth."

Sheldon pursed his lips, staring at the flickering television. How could he tell her the truth if he didn't even know himself?

"Look," Leonard said, meeting his eye, "it's date night tonight, right? Go to dinner, talk to her about it, and just be _honest_—you're going to have to talk about it sooner or later."

Desperate, Sheldon rounded the coffee table and sat in his spot. "But I don't _want_ to talk about it." _I want this to forget this ever happened._

Leonard settled further into the couch, the hood of his jacket bundling around his shoulders. "Well buddy," he said, without taking his eyes off the screen, "I don't think you have much of a choice."

* * *

"Okay, we're ready to go in three, two—"

"Here, bite down on this!"

"Wait, what—"

"One!"

A sharp ripping sound vibrated through the brightly coloured bedroom, followed by the muffled yelp of a distraught Amy Farrah Fowler. Eyes watering and cheeks burning, she spat out the remnants of her best friend's headband, glowering at the two blondes in front of her. "Ow!"

From between her legs, her stunning best friend held the strip gingerly between her fingers and eyed it closely, somewhat impressed. "Huh, not bad!"

"It says here that it should be successful in removing ninety percent of the hair on the first go," her smaller friend said from beside her, pushing her glasses up her nose and squinting at the small box. Tilting her head, she peered over at Amy's spread legs. "Penny, you missed a spot!"

Rolling her eyes, Penny tossed the sticky strip into the trash and knelt up on the floral bed covers, curly ponytail bouncing behind her. "Oh, come on—for a first try I think that's pretty good!" She grabbed a second strip, hot pink tipped fingers reaching for Amy's angry bikini line. "Now, just a couple more and we'll be all done—"

Amy snapped her bare legs shut and tugged down her plaid skirt, bundling it between her knees self-consciously. "Nope, I think I've lost enough hair follicles and dignity to last a lifetime, thank you."

Penny shrugged, falling heavily onto her hip. "Suit yourself. Back home in Nebraska, there was this skanky girl called Katie who would do a spray tan and Brazilian wax for twenty bucks, and let me tell you, the few times I had it done, I was not lucky enough to be wearing underwear."

Leaning back into the mountain of fluorescent pillows, Bernadette scrunched her nose at the waitress. "Howie doesn't mind whether I wax or not, he says there's nothing wrong with a lady who embraces her natural form."

"I'm sure Howard knows all about women embracing their natural form," Penny muttered, swinging a bronzed leg in front of her and rolling up her pajama pants.

Shuffling uncomfortably, Amy pursed her lips. "Well, on this rare occasion, I am inclined to agree with Howard; despite the societal push toward intimate female grooming, I am planning on embracing my natural self, in all its glory."

Beside her, Bernadette giggled and crossed her slender ankles. "And so you should—I'm sure Sheldon won't mind…"

Penny snorted, slapping the wax strip onto her bare calf. "I don't think Sheldon knows whether or not there's _supposed_ to be hair down there."

Amy narrowed her eyes at her best friend. "You should give Sheldon more credit; he knows more than you think. And a girl's always got to be prepared."

"Do you think something is going to happen between the two of you tonight?" Bernadette asked, reaching for a magazine from the night stand.

"I don't know," Amy said earnestly, sliding off the edge of Penny's bed and slipping her feet into her brown flats. It had been an entire week since Sheldon had bravely clutched at her hand during Howard's launch, and it had taken every ounce of control not to broach the subject with him…or pounce on him. "It's Date Night, and he made a reservation at an Italian restaurant down the street, which _isn't _on his list of approved dining establishments, so I'm anticipating a little wine, a declaration of his undying love for me, perhaps a kiss…"

"Don't expect too much, Ames, this is Sheldon we're talking about," Penny said, tugging the wax strip from her leg and inspecting the area.

Shrugging her cardigan onto her shoulders, Amy cocked her head at Penny, frowning. "And it's been a whole week since we've spoken at length, why else would he have avoided discussing our hand hold?"

Bernadette's head snapped up from the ragged copy of Cosmo. "You _still _haven't spoken to him about that?"

"Well, no," Amy replied, turning to face the two blondes. "I felt that perhaps it was best to give him some time to digest the incident—"

"You've gotta talk to him, Ames," Penny said, switching legs and looking up at her. "This isn't Sheldon's strong suit; not by a long shot."

"We'll see," Amy said dismissively, looping her handbag into the crook of her elbow. He'd held her hand, told her not to stop—he wanted her, and that was that.

Wasn't it?

* * *

It was the lighting, he was positive.

He had _specifically _requested a booth that featured full view of the kitchen, sufficient lighting and absolutely no tea light candles, and yet, there they were—in the furthermost corner of the restaurant, a delicate line of three teeny orange candles separating them and her face was positively _glowing_.

The flickering candlelight cast a golden glimmer across her fair skin, and her green eyes shone back at him vividly as she updated him on her progress at work. For a split second, he was reminded of a day, many years back, when he received his mint-condition 1980 insert preview of _The New Teen Titans_, featuring Starfire; the alien princess of the planet Tamaran. She was—of course—otherworldly, and utterly fascinating; long, ruby hair and tawny skin, with laser green eyes that seemed to burn into his soul.

"Sheldon?" The princess said, tilting her head. "Are you alright?"

Starfire was vivacious and flamboyant, yet ruthless and fearless in battle. She was uninhibited and flirtatious, with the figure of a womanly warrior. "Hm? Oh, I'm fine."

Green eyes fluttered back at him curiously, with a disarming smile to match. "I know there's something on your mind."

She could steal light and fly away. One touch, and she could speak your language. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sheldon," she pressed, leaning forward and clasping her hands together in front of her. Her _hands_. "You are nearly pathologically incapable of lying; tell me what's wrong."

They were so _close_—dainty and feminine and soft and not even remotely sweaty. He huffed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fine. I would like to propose that we discuss the events of last week."

To his complete surprise, Amy beamed back at him, eyes bright behind her red-rimmed glasses. "I knew you would," she said, and grasped for his hand across the tiny space. Instantly, the connection of her warm skin against his sent a shiver down his spine and he instinctively jerked his hand away, settling it on his knee beneath the table.

"Amy," he began shakily, drawing his eyes up to meet hers. The vibrant smile had disappeared, replaced with a look that he was certain was hurt. "I—"

"Do you regret it?" she asked softly, retreating her own hands beneath the table too.

The question echoed in his mind and he fumbled for an answer. Uncertain, always uncertain. "I don't know," he replied, and found himself staring into the floral pattern of her blouse. "To be perfectly honest, I'm not even sure what possessed me to do it in the first place—"

"What 'possessed you' to do it?" Amy said, tilting her head. "Was it not because you craved physical contact during a stressful moment? Because you felt the need to advance our relationship to a new level of intimacy?"

He stared back at her blankly, the words sinking in. _What is this woman on about?_

"Because you just _wanted_ to hold my hand?" She tried, staring right back, burning yet another hole in him.

_Did I?_ He pursed his lips, feeling his stomach turn. "I believe that in that specific moment, under those unusual circumstances, I may have felt it most beneficial to seek some form of physical contact."

For the first time in minutes, Amy's lips curved into a tiny smirk, eyebrow raised. "Interesting," she said, reaching for her wine glass and taking a sip. "So—really—you broke a rule written by yourself specifically for our Relationship Agreement, after your girlfriend initiated an experiment to increase your feelings toward her at an accelerated pace? All to hold her hand in a moment of need?"

_Drat. _Sheldon looked at her, unamused. "Don't push it."

A slim waitress with an apron slung low on her hips sauntered over to their table, plates in either hand. "I've got the…standard Lasagne and the Napolitana Gnocchi—Napolitana sauce and parmesan cheese on the side."

"No garlic as requested?" Sheldon said, eying the dish as she placed it in front of him.

"Umm, sure," the waitress said huskily, turning on her heel and racing back to the kitchen.

"Well that was rude," Sheldon said shortly, unfolding his napkin and laying it neatly across his lap. Across from him, Amy had not touched her cutlery or food. "Aren't you going to eat?"

She glanced up at him, a single strand of silky brown hair falling forward from behind her ear. "I don't want it to stop."

"What?"

"The handholding," she said, pausing to look down at his own hand. Tentatively, she drew the tips of her fingers across his, and then pulled them away. "We should continue this contact."

"Amy," he whined, "it was a one-off event, and I have no intention of continuing such behaviour—"

"Sheldon," she interrupted, "do you find me repulsive?"

"What? No—"

"Do you cringe at the thought of touching my hand?"

"I suppose not, but your skin is certainly teeming with bacteria—"

"Oh, _come on_, Sheldon!" she burst, voice tense. "Don't try to tell me you don't want this. _You _were the one who took my hand; _you_ were the one who said don't stop—" Slowly, the patrons of the tiny restaurant were craning their necks to inspect the disruption, and Amy lowered her voice. "You want me, I know it."

He cocked his head, confused. "'Want you'? How can I want you?"

Amy let out a low, frustrated growl. "Why did you ask me to be your girlfriend?"

The question surprised him. "I told you—because I no longer object to classifying you as my girlfriend—"

"No," she said, cutting him off, "what caused you to ask me?"

_Stuart. The potential threat of you dating other men. Having intercourse with other men. _"I…" _Jealousy. Because I wanted you to myself. _"I can't answer that."

Amy's face fell, and she looked down at her meal, now cold. "Alright," she said quietly.

They began to eat in silence, and Sheldon felt his chest grow heavy. Surely holding her hand every so often wouldn't be so bad? He knew she was a clean, well-groomed individual, with indescribably soft palms… "Fine. I will make the necessary amendments."

"Really?" she said, looking up from her plate.

He gave her a tight nod, silently pleading that she would leave this topic alone and allow them to finish their meal in peace. "Yes. I will have a revised edition of the agreement to you on Monday."

Amy brightened considerably, looking him straight in the eye. "Thank you, I would appreciate that. It's a good start."

He glanced down, the intensity of her stare making him uncomfortable, and examined one of the tiny buttons of her cardigan. Slowly, his gaze travelled upward, settling on the crook of her bare collarbone, more exposed than normal, he was sure.

What _had_ she done to him?

* * *

He was a constant, maddening battle.

Their meal had gone on pleasantly, Amy fighting the incessant disappointment that pooled in the pit of her stomach. Penny was right; she had been expecting too much—the handhold, his feelings…he simply wasn't ready.

She drove him home, parking out the front of the apartment building and heading up to his apartment with him. They ascended the stairs and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye; handsome in his dress pants, bright t-shirt and maroon blazer…

"Is something the matter?" he asked suddenly, catching her gaze. His blue eyes shone back at her innocently, lips parted with his single question…if only she could feel those lips again…

She tore her eyes away, feeling her cheeks burn. "Nothing at all."

They arrived outside his apartment, and he rummaged in his bag for his keys. "You really needn't have walked up with me—it is, after all, well past my bed time."

"No problem," she said quickly, "I don't plan to stay; I'm going over to see Penny."

"Oh, alright," he smiled at her, inching the apartment door open. "Well, you ladies have fun."

That _smile_—why did he insist on making her feel so weak? She nodded with a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you for a lovely night."

He scrunched his nose, a combination of confusion and disagreement spreading across his features. "You're welcome?"

Amy lingered for a moment, with the doubtful hope of a kiss on the cheek or a hug goodbye. Neither came. "Goodnight, Sheldon."

"Goodnight." The door shut with a click and Amy released a sigh she knew she'd been holding for hours. Shuffling across to Penny's door, she knocked and waited for her bubbly blonde friend to answer.

The door swung open and she was met with a bright smile. "Hey, Ames—you're back!"

"Yes," she replied forlornly, slinking into her apartment and throwing herself onto the couch. "It appears you were right, bestie."

Penny was already at the counter with two wine glasses and a half-empty bottle. "Oh no, what happened?"

"Well, Sheldon did in fact initiate conversation regarding the handhold, and—after some resistance—we agreed to continue the contact on a regular basis." Amy began, taking the cool glass from Penny as she sat down beside her.

The blonde raised her eyebrows, surprised. "Well that's great isn't it, now the two of you can move from there; holding hands is a great start…for you two!"

Amy watched a tiny golden bubble float from the edge of her glass to the surface and pop. "It wasn't easy; I managed to have him admit that he wanted to in the heat of the moment, however he fought his way through to our agreement—Penny, I asked him why he wanted me to be his girlfriend and he told me he couldn't answer."

Concern rolled over Penny's face and she leant back into the aqua couch. "Sweetie, you know why he wanted you to be his girlfriend—because he was so jealous of Stuart and couldn't stand to see you with anyone else; he practically told me that."

"Yes, but he won't tell _me_ that," Amy shook her head, frustrated. "He will hardly admit to himself why he wants to be in this relationship—if it makes no difference to him, why should we be in it at all?"

"Amy, you're in a relationship with _Sheldon;_ it's going to take time," Penny said soothingly. "If you're not happy, he can't hold you against your will—Relationship Agreement or not—"

"No!" Amy cut in, putting her glass down and turning to face her. "I want to be with him, and I know it's going to take time—I just wish _he_ knew why he wanted to be with me."

Penny tucked her hot pink, kitten-covered legs beneath her and sighed. "You said yourself—the experiment is working; I know Sheldon, and there's no way he would have held your hand out of the blue without your input. You've just gotta keep trying—besides, at the pace you're going, he'll be a hot-blooded male in no time."

Amy sighed. "I suppose you're right. It would just be nice to be made to feel attractive and desired once in a while…"

"Amy, you're gorgeous, your wardrobe could do with a spruce up but aside from that…" Grinning at her, Penny collected their glasses and headed into the kitchen. "Don't worry yourself about this; it'll work out."

"Thank you," Amy said softly, a wave of tiredness sweeping over her body.

"You wanna stay?" Penny called over her shoulder, rinsing the glasses in the sink.

"No, I'd better get home; I need to be in early at the lab in the morning." Slinging her handbag onto her shoulder, she smiled at her best friend, who now had a tea towel draped over her shoulder. "Thanks for the talk."

"Any time."

Amy twisted the doorknob and slipped out of the apartment, closing it gently behind her—it was late, and she'd hate to wake the sleeping neighbours. In the half-light, she noticed a tall, brunette figure outside the opposing apartment, his back to her. "Sheldon, I thought it was well past your bedtime—where are you going so late?"

The figure turned and in that second, she felt her heart leap.

It was Sheldon, but it _wasn't_. He was taller, broader, and his perfectly carved arms stuck out from beneath a plain plaid shirt, muscular and brawny. His hair was short and a dusty brown, skin lightly tanned. And his eyes were sparkling; devastatingly blue. He was nothing short of a _God_.

He tilted his head, giving her a lop-sided, devilish smirk that made her cheeks burn. "Amy, right?" The voice that slipped between those beautiful lips—so familiar—was as smooth as velvet, purring with a Southern drawl.

Every word had seemed to evacuate her mind, and she swallowed, her mouth dry. Awkwardly, she smiled back at him. "Y-yes?"

He laughed—a deep, magical sound and stepped toward her, hand outstretched. A hand that—she was sure—had seen far more than just a hard day's work. "Mom has told me so much about you."

Mind lagging in his presence, she absently shook his hand and felt her heart leap again. Casting her gaze up to his face—that strong jaw peppered with stubble—she noticed his eyes trail over her form and he cocked his head, grinning again.

A noise from behind them made her leap, and she jerked her hand away. Standing in the doorway was a robed Sheldon, staring them down with an indescribable expression on his face.

"George?"


	2. Chapter 2

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum**

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Hooray for another chapter! My apologies this was a little slower than I had intended—I am attempting to make them all long chapters and upload every few days to a week. Thank you all SO much for the array of reviews I received, I was so flattered and pleased to see some of my readers coming back to read my new fic! Thank you again. Please read, review and enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Once, when he was small, Sheldon had let his older brother read to him before bedtime; a picture book—more precisely, a fairy tale. His brother, only a few short years into his schooling, had sat down on the very edge of his dinosaur covered bed sheets and started to read, fumbling and stumbling over every syllable. "_The Ugly Duckling…_"

Slow as he was, George told him of the tiny duckling; bullied and teased by his siblings for simply being different. He told him of the little duckling's adventure to find a new home, a place where he was loved and accepted for who he was. He told him of how the duckling saw a beautiful swan, and fell in love with her, only to bend his head in shame, for he was not good enough for her.

Suddenly, George had stopped his reading. He squinted and drew the worn book closer, lips pressed into a thin line, and unexpectedly snapped the book shut. He had tossed it across the room and stormed over to Sheldon's night-light, flicking it off and heading for the door. Sheldon, barely large enough to hop down from his bed on his own, sat up and peered after his brother. "George," he had said timidly, "why didn't you finish the story?"

With a hand on the doorknob, George looked back at him over his shoulder, eyes cool and jaw tight. "Because ugly ducklings shouldn't get happy endings."

* * *

"George?"

It was _late, _and Sheldon had been awoken to an inordinate amount of mumbled discussion outside of his apartment door. He had slipped on his robe and slippers, disgruntled, and trudged down the hallway, flinging open the front door with a huff.

Only to find his girlfriend at the hands of his _brother_—just as brawny and audacious and senseless as he'd left him.

He locked his gaze on George, who dropped his previously outstretched hand to his side and turned to him, smirking. "Little brother—it's been a while!"

Sheldon clenched his teeth and swept his eyes over his older brother—no bag, no suitcase; just a dark pair of jeans, what he assumed was a 'stylish' plaid shirt and that _stupid _haircut he'd tried so hard to forget. "What are you doing here, George?"

George's smirk didn't falter; he simply raised an eyebrow and took a step closer. "Welcoming as always. I was just in the area and thought I'd drop by."

"I have resided in this apartment for almost ten years and not once have you 'been in the area' nor so inclined to 'drop by'." Sheldon replied swiftly, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze fell to Amy, who had the most unusual expression on her slightly flushed face—an expression he couldn't place. Somehow, she had managed to back herself into Penny's front door, and was chewing her lip lightly, staring at the floor in front of her. What had he said to her?

"Well, here I am, and I was just lucky enough to meet your lovely girlfriend—although, we haven't been formerly introduced," George said, looking back over to Amy, who tilted her head at him slightly and gave a small smile.

Sheldon narrowed his eyes. "Amy, this is my older brother, George Jr., George, my girlfriend, Amy. Happy?"

George grinned, still staring at Amy. "Very. You going to invite me in?"

"I wasn't intending to as you still haven't answered my previous question—why are you here?" Sheldon said irritably, blocking George's path.

"What's going on?" A voice echoed from behind him, and Sheldon huffed, turning to see a tired looking Leonard, rubbing his eyes.

Before he could stop him, George's hand was extended in Leonard's direction. "And you must be Leonard, Sheldon's roommate? I'm George, Sheldon's brother."

Leonard blinked, slipping his glasses on and squinting at George. Within seconds, his eyes widened with recognition—the family resemblance presumably surprising him. "Nice to meet you, I've heard so many…interesting things about you!"

"Oh yeah, me too, Mom's told me all about 'that dear Leonard boy who lives with Shelly'—"

"Alright, alright, that's enough idle chit-chat," Sheldon interrupted, desperate for his brother to be out of his sight and to get some decent shut-eye. "If there's no sound reason as to why you've arrived unannounced on my doorstep in the middle of the night, and you have nothing further to tell me, then I will bid you goodnight—"

"Sheldon!" Leonard scolded, opening the door wider. "He's your brother, you can't just turn him away! Come in, stay!"

Shooting him a grateful smile, George stepped around Sheldon and over the threshold. "Thanks," he said, and then turned back to Amy. "It was really nice to meet you, Amy—I hope we can get to know each other a little better soon."

Shuffling slightly, Amy smiled again, her cheeks tinged with red. "Likewise."

Sheldon pursed his lips as Leonard led George into his apartment, offering him a beverage and the couch for the evening. He locked eyes with Amy for the first time since his brother's arrival. "Well, since we apparently are operating Pasadena's number one late-night hotel, did you want to come in too?"

Amy hoisted her handbag further onto her shoulder, making her way to the staircase. "No, no, I'll go—I need to be up early in the morning anyway." She raced by him and began descending the stairs. "Goodnight!"

"Amy?" He called after her, certain something was amiss. "It's pizza night tomorrow night."

She looked back over her shoulder, pausing to look at him. "I'll be there, Sheldon."

* * *

What had _happened_?

Rummaging through her handbag for her keys, Amy shakily threw herself into her car and leant her head on the steering wheel, heart racing in her chest. She could feel the blood swimming under the skin of her cheeks, rosy as ever she imagined, and knew her voice was hoarse, mouth dry.

"_Amy, right?"_

A vision of that cheeky, whimsical smirk flashed into the forefront of her mind and she groaned, squeezing her eyes closed. Her palm—the same palm that had been held by her own boyfriend—still tingled from the contact; the zap that had shot up her arm still left her body buzzing.

"_I hope we can get to know each other a little better soon."_

His eyes—_Sheldon's _eyes—had swept over her, not once, but twice. They had roamed over every inch of her body, and suddenly she had felt naked in three layers of clothing. Completely exposed—but rather than being ridiculed, she felt _admired_.

"_I have a twin sister, Missy, and an older brother, George—he's as dumb as a box of rocks."_

_Dumb_ most certainly would not have been the word Amy would have used to describe George. His intelligence, or apparent lack thereof, had nothing to do with the indescribable, magnetic pull she felt toward him.

_It's not indescribable._

And it wasn't. There was one other unforgettable instance in her life where she recognised that very feeling—raw attraction and intrigue and exhilaration.

The day she met Sheldon.

* * *

He didn't like this. He didn't like this one bit.

Settling into his spot, Sheldon watched as George flopped into the adjacent armchair, taking a long sip of his steaming coffee, casting his eyes around the apartment curiously. In the kitchen, Leonard buzzed around in his robe, still grinning after George's insufferable impersonation of Sheldon's face when he greeted him at the door.

"So, George, what brings you to California? As much fun as I can imagine it would be, I'm sure you're not just here to annoy Sheldon," Leonard said, taking a seat beside Sheldon.

George placed his mug on the coffee table and crossed a long leg over his knee, slumping further into the chair. "Well, it's been quite some time since I've been out this way, and I hadn't seen Shelly since who knows when, so I decided it was time for a road trip on over to the 'state of sin', as my mother would say."

"You _drove?_" Sheldon said, dreading the thought of a car parked on the street below, stuffed full of George's belongings.

George shrugged, sweeping a hand through his short hair. "Yeah, needed a change of scenery—thought I might try and find myself a little place to stay for a while, maybe do some bar tendering for a few months—just needed to get out of Texas, you know?"

"You're welcome to stay here until you find a place, and I'm sure my girlfriend, Penny, could line you up some work at The Cheesecake Factory down the street—"

"_Leonard,_" Sheldon cut in loudly, widening his eyes in his friend's direction, "I do not feel that arrangement would be at all appropriate—"

"I do—besides, we have a couch right here that would be fine for a week or so, until he gets on his feet," Leonard said, shooting George a smile, who was staring most deliberately into his coffee.

Sheldon huffed, pursing his lips. "I call for an impromptu roommate meeting—George, if you would just excuse us for a moment."

Pushing up from the armchair, George shook his head lightly and made his way down the hall. "Sure, I've gotta use the bathroom anyway…"

Beside him, Leonard watched George go before rounding on Sheldon, frowning. "What the hell, Sheldon? He's your _brother_; there's no reason why he can't stay here a few days while he gets himself on his feet!"

Sheldon glared at him, his patience with the entire evening nearing the end of its tether. "Need I remind you how incredibly _pleased_ you were about your own mother staying not here, but a mere ten minutes away?"

Leonard faltered slightly and took a deep breath. "That is beside the point, Sheldon. I know you and George have had your differences but you're both adults now—"

"Our _differences?_" Sheldon said, his voice tense. "I think you will find that what _he _did to me as a child equated to far more than just a few differences."

"Well, so far I have no idea what you're talking about—he seems friendly, and more than happy to playfully wind you up like the rest of us do; he'll fit right in," Leonard said, grinning back at him.

"That's exactly what he wants you to think," Sheldon muttered.

Leonard shrugged, rising with his mug and wandering across to the kitchen. "Let him stay a few days at least, Sheldon, he's got nowhere else to go."

_I don't want him here. _"He could stay at a hotel."

"He could," Leonard moved to the fridge and put the carton of milk away, and then looked back to Sheldon. "Based on the gobsmacked look Amy was giving him I don't think she'd have any problem letting him stay on her couch."

He looked up at Leonard, who was giving him a pointed look, and felt the knot in his stomach tighten. How was it that this little man could pluck so accurately at one of his fears? "Fine, but only for a few days."

Leonard grinned. "George, you can come back now!"

Seconds later, George re-emerged, taking his seat once again. "Sheldon, if it's that much of a hassle to have me stay then forget it; thought my own brother might be a little more excited to see me but it seems you haven't changed a bit," he gave him a near-pitiful smile and leant forward, arms resting on his knees. "Not one bit."

"No, no!" Leonard interrupted, dismissing Sheldon with a wave of the hand. "It's settled; you can stay as long as you like—"

"A few days," Sheldon growled, leaning forward slightly as George was.

"A few days," Leonard said through gritted teeth. "I'll go grab you some blankets and we can continue this catch up tomorrow."

Leonard shuffled off down the hallway and Sheldon felt George's eyes on him, challenging him to meet his own. "You don't scare me one bit."

George's eyebrows shot up and he tutted lightly. "I should hope not," he said, his voice thick with fakery. "I can't believe it; kid nerd with a neat apartment and a girlfriend and a bit more muscle—you've got the whole package, don't you?"

Sheldon dove for the words before they could sink too deep. "Why are you here, George?"

"I told you," he said, smirking again, "I just needed a change of scenery."

* * *

As she stared down into one of her many petri dishes of the morning, Amy felt her eyes grow heavy and start to burn. Sleep had been hard to come by the night before, her mind swimming with thoughts of this Sheldon-like creature that had stepped into her world—a creature that reminded her of all the things she _didn't _have with her own Sheldon.

Beside her, her phone vibrated on the stainless steel bench top, blinking with a stunning picture of her blonde best friend. "Hello?" she answered, even though she knew the caller and would usually respond with something far more exotic.

"In the name of all that is good and holy, have you _seen _him?!" Penny burst on the other end of the line, in a voice that sounded like a loud whisper.

"I assume you've met George, then?" Amy said, unable to hide her smile at Penny's response to the man.

"Um, I don't know so much about _met_," she started, "more like _gawked at_…Amy, I went over to pay Leonard a surprise 'good morning' and he was sprawled across their couch_—topless!_ I thought I was going insane; dreaming about some sexy version of Sheldon…"

"You and me both," Amy said quietly, sliding another round dish across the counter and examining it through her microscope.

"Then he got up and introduced himself, and I barely managed to spit out a 'hello', and now I'm still trying to determine whether I feel disturbed or amazed," she sighed, contemplating the encounter. "I just—the family resemblance is—oh _God_ Amy, have you seen him?"

Amy stopped what she was doing and took a seat on a nearby stool. "Last night, after I left your apartment."

"And?"

She paused, the undeniable conflict churning in her stomach. "Penny…"

"What _happened_?"

"I don't know," Amy said honestly, pulling her glasses away from her face and rubbing her eyes tiredly. "I thought it was Sheldon, and when it wasn't I just froze up, and he smiled at me and…"

She could tell Penny knew more, despite saying much at all, and her tone was suddenly serious. "Did he say something to you? You've gotta tell me what happened; you're hiding something—"

Movement in the doorway suddenly caught her blurred eye, and she scrambled for her glasses, sliding them on again. As if he had been summoned, George stood, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans. "Hope it's not a bad time," he said quietly, tilting his head in her direction.

Gripping the phone tighter in her hand, Amy felt her jaw drop slightly. "Um, I've gotta go," she said to Penny, and disconnected the call without her response. Regaining her composure, she slipped of her stool and smiled at George. "Hi, George…"

He slipped into the lab and across to her counter, giving her another one of his lop-sided smirks. "I thought we kinda got off on the wrong foot last night, after Sheldon came out all guns blazing," his smirk broadened into a smile and his vibrant eyes caught hers. "I asked Leonard where you worked this morning and thought I might pay a visit—I hope that's okay."

_That's just perfect._ "That's fine; no problem at all." _Focus, Fowler, you can do this! _"Well, given that I never really got to speak on behalf of myself last night, I'm Amy, and it's nice to meet you, George." _Good start._

Dragging a stool over and taking a seat across from her, he chuckled—that deep, guttural sound that she had heard out of Sheldon on a few _rare_ occasions. "So, you're a scientist too, you work with brains and stuff?"

_And stuff? This man should be almost insufferable._ "Yes, I'm a neurobiologist, and yes, I study the brain."

George leant his forearms on the bench, and Amy struggled to tear her eyes from his upper body—straining against a charcoal t-shirt. "Huh," he remarked, and then cast his eyes over her work for the day. "So, what exactly are you doing right now?"

"I am collecting and examining specimens taken by my colleagues and I to perform further research into ion channels and molecular signalling," she said, indicating toward a large rack of test tubes and paperwork.

He craned his neck to examine the specimen, genuinely intrigued. "Well, I have no idea what that means but it sounds cool—very impressive," he paused, and she saw his eyes roll over her lab coat. "Do neuroscientists always wear frumpy lab coats?"

Amy felt her cheeks warm as his gaze lingered a second longer than was comfortable. "Neurobiologists, and yes—always." He nodded, mysterious smile appearing once again—time for a change of topic. "And what about you, George—what do you do?"

He sat up a little straighter, stretching his arms out in front of him. "Whatever I want," he replied brazenly, flashing her a grin. "I don't have any training, I just go where there's work—manual labour, bar tendering, you know."

_He would have done _plenty _of manual labour in his day._ "Sounds…exciting," she said, placing a test tube back on the rack. "How long are you staying in California?"

"Oh, I dunno," he said vaguely, shrugging his broad shoulders. "A few months, maybe—I'm just staying with Sheldon 'til I find myself a place, and I'll sniff out a job in the mean time. Plus, there's a person in particular that I'm quite _intrigued _by."

_Penny; it's so Penny. _"She's taken."

His eyebrows rose in surprise and he grinned. "Is she, now?"

Amy frowned, confused. "Yes—you met her this morning, didn't you? Leonard's girlfriend?"

Something flashed behind those magnificent sapphire eyes and he pressed his lips together. "She's not who I'm talking about," he said, and slipped off the stool. "I suppose I'd better go and let you get back to work—I'll see you tonight for 'Pizza Night'?"

She couldn't help but laugh at his feigned excitement over her boyfriend's carefully scheduled night of the week. "Sure, I'll see you then."

George gave her another smirk, and reached out one long, tanned arm to tap her on the shoulder before walking out. She stared after him for a moment, her heart racing and arm tingling, and took a seat. On the counter, her phone flashed impatiently with a single text message from Sheldon.

_Good morning, Amy. Hope you are well. Section Five: Handholding has been revised and updated for your perusal this evening. See you then.  
_

* * *

"So, George, we've heard many a tale from Sheldon about your childhood in Texas—was it really all that bad?" Leonard asked, spinning on his computer chair to fetch a second piece of pizza.

The group—minus a temporarily space-dwelling Howard—were seated around the coffee table munching away on pizza and taking a great interest in their guest. George looked over at Sheldon, who was picking at the crust of his pizza, and then back at Leonard, grinning. "Everything he has told you is a lie."

"No!" Raj piped up incredulously, the affects of one-too-many beers creeping through his heavy accent.

"Oh, come on—" Sheldon began, tossing a piece of mangled crust back onto his plate.

"Yes!" George said, cutting him off. "Don't believe a word; I was nothing but good to my little brother."

Raj smiled dreamily at him from his spot on the floor at Bernadette's feet. "I don't doubt it one bit…"

Sheldon huffed, glancing next to him at Amy, who was especially quiet this evening. "I trust you received my message regarding the agreement," he said quietly.

Amy looked up at him, her green eyes meeting his own. "I did, and I look forward to reading over the alterations you have made," she replied with a smile.

A combination of her proximity and her smile made his stomach flutter, and he pursed his lips, no longer hungry for his delicious pizza. "Good, once we've finished our meals we will go over it."

Laughter interrupted their murmured conversation as George twirled tiny Bernadette under his arm, no doubt demonstrating his cotillion dance skills. "See, easy—Sheldon always whined about the dances our mother made us go to, but they weren't so bad; I met plenty of pretty girls there."

"Not before you moaned and groaned about going yourself," Sheldon muttered, folding his arms across his chest.

Bernadette giggled as she took her seat once again and looked over to Sheldon. "You may have some competition with those dance moves, Sheldon!"

Penny crossed one slim leg over another and swallowed a mouthful of pizza. "What were you doing before you came out this way, George? Working? Married? Any kids?" The question surprised Sheldon, and he looked across at Penny, who raised her eyebrows innocently. "Just asking."

George laughed the question off, as he so often did. "No, not married and certainly no kids, and I was working on a local construction site near home."

"Interesting," she said, and Sheldon watched her gaze shift from his brother to his girlfriend. _What is she playing at? _

"Oh, how's Missy?" Raj asked suddenly, and Sheldon gave him a stern look. "And your mother—how are they both?"

Sheldon turned to George; maybe this would reveal his true intentions. "Yes—how are they both?"

"They're well; Mom's the same as always—church every weekend, volunteering where she can, and Missy's moved in with her boyfriend, waitressing at a café in town," George replied, grabbing another slice of pizza and taking a large bite.

"And neither of them sent you on any sort of mission?" Sheldon asked, and felt Amy's gaze move to him.

"Nope," George said with a smile, "it's all me."

Bernadette hopped up once again, crossing the room to grab her bright pink laptop. "My husband, Howard, is an astronaut, and he's up in space right now—but he's due to call in soon if you'd like to meet him!"

"An astronaut?" George said, incredulous. "That's amazing!"

"Alright," Sheldon cut in, standing from his spot. "Firstly, it's not 'amazing'—the man got a free ride because he put together a few odds and ends for a hideously overrated space telescope, and secondly, I don't have time for this—Amy and I have some very important paperwork to discuss."

Leonard sighed, rolling his eyes. "The update to the handholding section of your Relationship Agreement is _not_ 'very important paperwork', Sheldon."

Collecting the freshly bound agreement from his desk, Sheldon turned back to the group, waiting for Amy to follow him. "It is very important, Leonard, and I can assure you that a Relationship Agreement would do your relationship with Penny a world of good—"

"I'm sorry, 'Relationship Agreement'?" George cut in, cocking his head in confusion.

"Yeah, it's a contract Sheldon wrote up outlining all the rules of their relationship—basically to keep him out of hot water," Penny said, poking her fork over her shoulder at Sheldon.

"Excuse me," Sheldon said, laying out his notary stamps. "The agreement is not to 'keep me out of hot water'—"

"And you've just updated the _handholding _section of that agreement?" George asked him, but his eyes were fixed on Amy, still sitting on the couch.

Sheldon tensed. "Yes."

"Right," George said, nodding slowly.

"Don't worry—we don't get it either." Leonard chuckled, and Sheldon glared at him. This group was getting on his nerves this evening, and he was anxious enough about the alterations to the agreement as it was.

He looked over at Amy, who was setting her plate down and making he way over. "Come on Amy—this revision is almost two pages long and we don't have all night."

"Doesn't sound like you do," George muttered, and Sheldon ground his teeth, ignoring him. He could joke all he wanted; Amy was still _his _girlfriend.

Despite the raucous laughter of the group, who were now joined by the one and only Howard Wolowitz, Sheldon ran Amy through the revised section smoothly. She snatched the paperwork out of his hands, and cast her eyes over it in record time. "'Under suitable circumstances within an appropriate environment'?" she read, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

He shuffled in his desk chair, feeling himself grow defensive. "The two paragraphs following outline detailed examples of what is appropriate."

"How about now?" she asked boldly, and he felt his breathing hitch. _Right now?_

"Well, I wouldn't really advocate that _now_ is a suitable time, but alright." He placed his palm face-up on the desk, ignoring the side of him that screamed it was unsanitary, and to demand she used hand sanitiser first. Without removing her eyes from the contract, she slipped her hand into his, lacing her fingers between his own—warm and soft and smooth. He held his breath, feeling his heart thump in his ribcage, and wondered if he fitted with her so perfectly in every way, and whether that was chance.

"Alright," she said after a moment, jerking her hand away and reaching for a pen. "Where do I sign?"

* * *

The old leather couch was cool and about a foot too long, and every time he rolled over his bare back would stick to the material, stinging his skin. He sighed, staring at the dark ceiling, and drew his hands behind his head. Anything was better than Galveston, right?

_Definitely. _He didn't miss it one bit, and he was finally able to see what his little brother was up to all the way over in Cali.

_More like what he's _not_ up to._

The truth was, he couldn't get her off his mind. Her geeky glasses, her frumpy cardigans, her womanly hips, her innocent eyes…coupled with _something_ that he just couldn't place; there was more to her, a mystery he wanted to solve.

_You want her._

He slid a hand down his bare chest and along the dip of his hipbone, slipping it beneath the band of his briefs. He did want her, like he hadn't wanted anything before; she was a fantasy, and a forbidden one at that.

Which only made her more enticing.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum**

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Thank you all for the incredible response, I am so flattered and honoured to be getting such lovely comments back on the story. As I mentioned previously, I am uploading a 'double-length' chapter each time, so please be patient—I aim to upload each week or more often if time permits. Read, review and—most importantly—enjoy!

**Chapter Three**

The raucous sound of masculine, wild cheers erupted from living room, accompanied by a suffocating waft of cigarette smoke. He hugged his notebook to his chest, eyes to the floor, and scurried past the wood grain covered television set, skilfully dodging his father's extended feet. Before he could make it to the safety of the kitchen, a grease-coated hand grasped his arm, encircling it tightly. "Put away that damn book and tell your mother to get me a beer."

Pursing his lips, he cast his eyes across to his brother, sitting stiffly on the couch adjacent, avoiding his stare. He yanked his arm away and raced into the kitchen, where his mother was rounding the corner with an ice-cold bottle, pre-empting her husband's request. Colliding into her, he was faced with a field of floral—bright and sweet and safe. "My goodness, Shelly dear, slow down—you'll do yourself an injury!"

She passed him swiftly, and he followed her, peering around the yellowing, stained archway into the living room. Without removing his glassy eyes from the television, his father snatched the beer from her, taking a long swig. "Oh, and one for the boy, too."

He looked across to his brother, who caught his eye and shrugged, making a face that he was sure indicated uncertainty. Sighing, his mother placed her hands on her hips in _that _way she often did. _Exasperated. _

"George, the boy's fourteen years old—"

"Yeah, Dad, it's fine—I don't want one—"

There was a sudden clunk of the armchair as his father sat upright, thrusting his bottle onto the coffee table with a thud. He could just see the edge of a cigarette dangling from his lips, the prickle of his unshaven cheek. "You _will_ get me and my son a beer," he sneered, and then looked over to his brother. "And _you_ will drink it."

Gripping the creased notepad closer to his chest, he poked his head out further and nodded at George vehemently. If he didn't accept the beverage and drink it without fuss, an all-out war would begin and the afternoon would turn hellish—and he had an important research paper to complete.

Huffing, George closed his eyes and reopened them with a forced smile. "Sure, Dad."

Shaking her head in defeat, his mother passed him once again, the familiar rustle of her apron making him awfully hungry and he followed her into the kitchen. Taking a seat at the worn dining table, he flipped open his notebook and began to jot—keeping one ear focused in on the living room.

"_You will learn, boy—this is what men do while they watch a game, and there'll always be a bitch around to fetch you a drink."  
_

* * *

The scorching stream beat down on his pale skin, filling the small bathroom with a thick, engulfing steam. He let out a long, deep sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, flicking tiny droplets all over the white tiles. It was now ticking over to the eleventh minute of his shower, despite his own strict ten-minute shower rule, and no doubt Leonard would be knocking at any moment.

Tilting his head forward, he let the water pound at the tendons in his neck, watching it pool at his feet and drip off the tip of his nose into the puddle below. He stared down at his hands, clasped in front of his groin, and swallowed, pursing his lips. The palm of his left hand still tingled from where—the very night before—she had held it, lacing her fingers gently through his own. His heart started to race at the thought; the thought of how they had so perfectly moulded together, of how little he had cared about hygiene, of how _odd _he'd felt when she'd jerked her hand away…

Of how he'd woken from his slumber that morning with his own hands laced together as they had done.

Huffing, he grasped the soap, rolling it in his palms until suds oozed from his fingers. He drew a hand across his chest and down his abdomen, a trail of lathered bubbles forming across his skin. Routinely, he swept his fingers lower, into the curly, coarse hair and over the soft skin of his crotch.

_You wash yourself in this manner every single day. Why does this feel so…_wrong_?_

Hand stilling and heart rate picking up, he chewed his lip and repeated the action, swiping his thumb across the tender skin. Instantly, the limp flesh reacted; twitching ever so slightly.

_Her hands…_

He gasped, the sound barely audible through the gush of the water, tossing the bar of soap across the length of the shower, where it slid down the tiled wall and into the tub. Suddenly she was right there, in his mind; that fair skin, the dip of her collarbone, thosehands…

"_You mean, like, in bed or in the shower…?"_

Tearing his hand away in horror, he groped for the shower taps, twisting them until the jet above him ceased and turning to make a quick exit. In the next breath, his foot caught the slippery, soapy bar beneath him and sent him toppling backward, taking the shower curtain with him with a loud crash.

"Ow," he groaned, rubbing the back of his throbbing head lightly and inspecting for blood. Looking over himself, he shook his head—tangled in a mess of an oversized, torn periodic table, wet and soapy.

"Um, you alright in there, buddy?" came Leonard's voice on the other side of the bathroom door.

Sheldon hauled himself up, knees wobbly, and peeled away the remnants of their shower curtain. "I'm fine, thank you…"

_Am I?  
_

* * *

_His carved, strong shoulders loomed over her, taught with the weight of his own body, and in the dim moonlight his skin shone, glinting with sweat. She could feel his lips on her neck, hear his shallow breath at her ear, and she gasped as he ground against her, his body dipping between her weak legs. The satin bed sheets were damp and tangled amongst their limbs, and she could feel herself sinking into the pillows, falling brilliantly. He tenderly, agonisingly slowly traced the tips of his rough fingers over the hump of her breast, dancing along the edge of the emerald lace, and she shivered beneath him, her chest heaving with anticipation. She wanted to touch him, to see him, and she reached out her hands, trailing over the dips and hollows of his chest, smooth with a sprinkling of mousy hair…_

_In one swift movement, her arms were pinned above her head, and he was hovering above her once more, his face concealed in the half-light. He peppered tiny kisses along her neck, and she arched her back to him, tossing her head back. She fought against him desperately, tugging at her hands hopelessly, and he pressed her into the covers with ease, thrusting himself against her forcefully. The power of his weight against her aching body caused her to whimper and she saw him grin in satisfaction. "I know what you want…"_

_The dull shine of the moonlight shifted, casting a glow through her venetian blinds, and a slither of light framed his sapphire eyes, dark with lust. "Sheldon?" she breathed, whispery and light. Could it really be?_

_Holding her in place with a single hand, he drew his fingers across the curve of her waist, the supple skin of her stomach, and hooked them under the matching lace of her panties, lingering above her heat. "Not quite…" George's velvety voice growled, and he plunged a long finger inside her…_

Amy awoke with a start, sitting up to find her sheets roped around her ankles and damp hair plastered to her forehead. Mid-morning sun was blaring through her window, and her bedroom was stuffy and warm. Sighing, she ran a shaky hand through her messy hair and squinted down at herself—plaid pajama top open and cropped singlet rolled up beneath her bust. She shook her head, attempting to rid herself of the blatant throbbing between her thighs, and stared at the ceiling, the blades of the fan spinning above her. She had dreamt of _George_…of his strong, chiselled body, his utter delight in her body, his desperation…

"_No,_" she said to herself firmly, tossing back the covers and swinging her legs over the edge. Night after night, she had dreamt of Sheldon's hands caressing her, loving her, wanting her…night after night, she had wanted nothing more than _him_, in all his perfection.

And then this _enigma_ had waltzed into her life.

Her phone buzzed gently on the nightstand beside her and she snatched for it, smiling down at not only one, but two text messages from Sheldon, spaced fifteen minutes apart.

_Good morning, Amy._

_Amy Farrah Fowler, you'd better not be sleeping in and ignoring my prior greeting._

She chuckled, drawing her knees to her chest and staring blankly ahead at the disorganised array of books on her bookshelf. Each chunky textbook was neatly arranged in alphabetical order, titles upon titles of informative, intellectual reading, and each shelf carefully laid out according to size. The anomalous culprits creating the mess, it seemed, consisted of frivolous, adventurous romance novels—filling the gaps where nothing had been before.

There was no denying that she loved Sheldon. He was brilliant, gorgeous and—beneath his selfish exterior—kind and good. He made her feel like nothing else mattered, and that she had a purpose. But could he make her feel as beautiful, as _desired_, as his own brother had within a couple of short glances?

* * *

"_Leonard_, you can't just ambush a guy like that, that's totally unfair!" Raj whined, tossing his Xbox controlled across the carpet and sliding further into his desk chair, sulking.

Lazing on the couch next to him, Leonard grinned. "Well, I just did," he said smugly, and then turned to George, who was gazing at the television with deep concentration. "So now if you press _this_ and _this _together you can run and shoot—see, you got it!"

Pouring milk into his steaming tea, Sheldon watched the trio from the kitchen counter, glaring in their direction. George's belongings and a pile of dishevelled bedding were strewn across the couch, and his lazy brother was settled into the armchair, long legs dangling over the edge. Pursing his lips, Sheldon stared down into his tea, watching the milk bleed through the brown water before he twirled it with a teaspoon. On the counter, his phone sat lifeless beside him—still nothing from his vixen girlfriend, despite it being almost midday.

"Shoot, shoot, shoot!" Leonard cried, cringing and hiding behind the palms of his hands as George jerked the controller back into his chest. "Nope, too slow, you're out."

Sheldon rolled his eyes, taking a seat at his desk and flipping open his laptop. "Had any luck finding a place to live yet, George?"

George's gaze didn't shift from the television. "I've got a couple of places lined up, not too far from here."

Sheldon lifted the hot beverage to his lips and blew away the steam, waiting impatiently for the computer to fire up. "And when you say 'lined up' you mean…?"

"Leave the guy alone, Sheldon," Leonard said, throwing Raj his own remote and wandering across to the fridge. "He's hardly been here one day and you're already hassling him."

Sheldon ignored him, spinning in George's direction. "And what about a job, you got any of those 'lined up'?"

"Shelly," George said, pausing the game and twisting his neck to look at his brother, "how's your head after that fall you had in the shower this morning?"

"Oh _dude!_" Raj burst, spinning around. "George told me all about that—did you have a nice trip?"

Behind him, Leonard chuckled, pouring himself a glass of juice. "You should have sent us a postcard."

"Ha-ha, very funny—good to know that you're _concerned_, however I am—as you can see—physically unharmed," he said shortly, and jumped as he felt a strong vibration in the pocket of his pants. Digging the cell phone out, he felt his heart leap as Amy's smiling face appeared on his screen, his cheeks warming with the recollection of his _thoughts _about her earlier that morning. "Good morning, Amy."

"Good morning," she said pleasantly, and he felt a tiny tingle at the base of his spine. _Her voice…_

Clearing his throat, he continued. "I must say I am quite disappointed that I did not receive a response message from you this morning. Were you indulging in the pointless and unproductive pastime of sleeping in on this fine Saturday morning?"

There was a heartbeat of silence before she replied, and he heard her sigh lightly. "If you must know, yes, I was having a sleep in, and it was lovely, thank you for asking."

Over his shoulder, the three other boys were sniggering, and Sheldon shot them a pointed look. "I trust you are well then?" he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Indeed," she said. "Now, on to the purpose of my call—I was wondering if you would like to come over and 'hang out' for the remainder of the afternoon and into the evening?"

"At your apartment?" he asked, the words sliding out of his mouth before he could stop them. _Danger! Danger!_

"Yes," she said slowly, sounding perplexed. "I thought we could perhaps watch some movies."

_Doesn't this woman realise it's laundry night?_ "It's laundry night."

Again, she huffed on the line. "Could you make an exception? Complete the laundry earlier?" she paused again. "I would like to see you."

That level of honesty and vulnerability in her husky voice was—for some odd reason—always difficult to say no to. "Would the movies be of an educational nature?"

To his complete surprise, she chuckled. "I suppose."

He felt his stomach flip at the thought of sitting a mere foot from her on her tiny couch, that ever-scheming vixen mind at work and ready to pounce. "But it's not date night."

"Sheldon," she said impatiently, "we hang out all the time when it's not date night, and I would suggest that social etiquette requires a boyfriend to attend to his girlfriend's request should he not be otherwise occupied."

_Darn social etiquette. _"Alright," he relented, and then turned to face the group of tittering children behind him. "Leonard, I need you to drive me to Amy's in an hour."

"Fine." Leonard said reluctantly, putting up no argument.

"He doesn't _drive _either?" George piped up incredulously, twisting once again to look at him.

Sheldon pressed his lips together tightly, willing himself to remain calm. "Amy, I will see you at one."

* * *

One hour, that's all she had to prepare for his arrival.

Dragging a towel roughly over her dripping skin, Amy hastily swung the shower door closed and reached for her frangipani-scented moisturiser, smearing it across her smooth legs and up her thighs. She tousled the towel through her wet locks, knotted and messy, and then wrapped it around herself, shuffling over to the mirror.

"_Maybe you need to try something a little different with Sheldon—tease him, wear something different, play up to what he likes, I dunno."_

Her best friend's voice rang in her ears as she stared at the blurred vision of her brunette self in the foggy glass. Well, she now smelled of a stunning subtropical flower, and perhaps if she just applied a little make-up like Penny had taught her—

A loud chime sounded from her phone on the bench beside her, vibrating its way off the edge and into the sink. Grasping for it, she frowned at the unfamiliar number displayed on her screen, and opened up the message.

_Handholding clause…really?_

Letting out a long breath, she leant against the towel rail and chewed her lip softly as she typed her reply. How had he gotten her number?

_This is George, I presume. I'm sure you know better than most what Sheldon's like._

She didn't have time to think about _him—_her boyfriend was on his way over and she had twenty-two minutes left until his timely arrival. Tearing a comb through her wet tresses, she hurriedly uncapped her mascara wand and dabbed it against her lashes, as she did most days now—being best friends with a girl like Penny came with it's own positive set of responsibilities, of course.

Dashing back into her bedroom, she unrolled herself from the towel and threw on a plain blouse and one of her far less conservative skirts—three inches shorter than her usual length, which was sure to stir up _something_ in Sheldon. She had to see him; had to get George off her mind and give Sheldon a chance to advance their new addition to the Relationship Agreement.

In the kitchen, she lined up a bag of popcorn and closed the blinds, darkening the space just enough to make for an appropriate, romantic movie-watching atmosphere. _Thirteen minutes…_

As she poured two tall glasses of water, her phone buzzed impatiently once again, and she looked over the message reluctantly—aware this correspondence with George was no helping her case.

_I know exactly how he ticks. _

The message stopped her in her tracks, and she overfilled one glass, spilling icy water all over the counter. "Damn," she muttered, and sopped up the liquid with a nearby dishcloth whilst typing with her other hand. How was he so confident, so expertly aware of Sheldon's inner workings?

_How's that? _She wrote conversationally, tempted to find out more but cautious that she kept her distance. Instantly, a reply came back.

_We're all the way we are for a reason. _

She bit her lip, staring at the message. Was he the way he was for a reason, too? Before she could formulate another response, another text came in.

_I'd love to see you again, Amy._

Swallowing, she felt her heart race, and she fluttered a hand to her forehead, rubbing it lightly. What was he doing?

_I don't know if Sheldon would love that idea._

But would he care? Would he even notice?

_And what about you—would you love it?_

She stood alone in her faintly lit apartment, back to her stovetop and nothing but the sound of her own breath to accompany her, and yet he made her feel as though he were _right there_…whispering in her ear, touching her…

A familiar succession of knocks rapped at her door and she jumped, tossing the phone back onto the counter. "Amy?"

Rounding the bench, she raced for the door and swung it open, giving him a bright smile. "Hi, Sheldon."

He smiled back at her, fetching in his windbreaker and tight navy pants. That smile, she was so sure, was especially reserved for her. "Hello."

* * *

_It seems awfully dark in here for a Saturday afternoon, _Sheldon thought crossing over the threshold into her small apartment. During his walk up the stairwell, his heartbeat had increasingly become more frantic, and as he stood in the doorway he let out a shallow breath. _Relax, Cooper, it's not like she's going to attack you at any moment…_

"Thank you for coming," she said, tossing the flat bag of popcorn into the microwave and punching the buttons lightly. He cast his eye around the apartment—yes, it was definitely darker than usual; the blinds were drawn closed and the only light that was on was a pathetic excuse for a lamp on her side table.

"Not a problem," he said distractedly, and then looked back to her. Tilting his head, he noticed her hair was damp and drying in long, spirally strands. "You know, Amy, we're not all hippies—you could have at least dried your hair."

His comment seemed to catch her off-guard, and she arched an eyebrow at him. "My apologies, Sheldon, I didn't realise it would bother you," she pulled the inflated bag of popcorn from the microwave gingerly, tearing it open. "I think that you will approve of our movie selection for the evening."

"Oh?" he said, peeling off his jacket and hanging it over the back of one of the bar stools.

Tipping the popcorn into a bowl, she wandered past him to the couch and took a seat. "I took the liberty of doing a little research into some appealing comic-book adaptions," she said, reaching for a pile of DVDs. "I've got _The Avengers_, what I believe is the first _X-Men_ movie, something by the name of _Thor_, and I couldn't determine what that was about but the lead actor looked utterly delectable—"

Taking a seat beside her, Sheldon nodded, impressed. "Well, much to my dismay, I was only fortunate enough to see _The Avengers _twice at the cinemas, so perhaps that would be a first good choice."

"Excellent," Amy said with a smile, and jumped up to put the disc into the DVD player. Kneeling in front of the television, she unclipped the disc and pressed it to the lips of the machine, and then reached for the remote to turn up the volume. He watched as she tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear and stood up again, flattening her skirt. The pale skin of her legs contrasted against the dark skirt, and he stared at the exposed flesh above her knee, an area of her that he had seen only once before, wrapped in black spandex…

"Ready to go," she said cheerfully, flopping back down beside him in the centre of the couch. Reaching for the bowl of popcorn, she shuffled her weight slightly until their thighs were touching, just as they had _that_ day. "Popcorn?"

He took a handful, begging for his heart beat to settle, and focused his eyes on the screen in front of him. _The Avengers _had certainly impressed him, and he wouldn't turn down an opportunity to view it once again, however his concentration was waning. Beside him, he could hear her munching lightly on the popcorn—which was quizzically not as infuriating as he had imagined it would be—and the television cast a glow across her bare legs.

Suddenly, she shifted, uncharacteristically crossing one leg over the other and angling her body toward him. Not only were their hips touching ever so slightly, but her open hand was resting on the edge of his thigh, shooting irritating tingles up his leg. Taking a shallow breath, he focused in on the ass-kicking Black Widow tumbling across the screen and squeezed his thighs together. A little higher and her dainty hands would be where his had been that very morning, touching him…

_Drat!_ He pushed away the obscene thoughts raiding his mind and gazed down at his own hands, pressed between his thighs tightly. This was probably one of _those _situations where he should hold her hand, as per the revised agreement. Awkwardly, he inched his hand across her own and clasped it tightly, letting go of a shaky breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile, relaxing further into the cushions.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to do that," she whispered, and he felt the sultry tone of her voice course down every nerve in his body, making him shiver.

A waft of something flowery caught his nostrils and he scrunched his nose. "Can I smell flowers?" he asked quietly, the scent overpowering.

"That depends—do you like it?" she whispered back, shifting closer again.

_Dear Lord._ "I suppose—by any standard, flowers are commonly recognised as an appealing smell; excluding fetid flowers—quite an interesting revolutionary phenomena, did you know that flowers such as the Titan flower develop a rancid odour to lure in critters that would normally feed on decaying flesh—Amy, what are you doing?"

Amidst his intriguing story, she had gently leant her head against his shoulder, nuzzling into the fabric of his t-shirt. He felt his body tense and she snapped up to look at him, green eyes wide and curious. "Well, I thought that given your stance on handholding it would not be an issue if we perhaps cuddled during the movie—"

"That was _not _a part of our revision," he said, his voice tight and high, and he instinctively tugged her hand from her own. "We agreed to holding hands under appropriate circumstances—and I recognise that this is a suitable setting however we did _not _agree—"

"I know what we agreed on," she snapped, snatching for the remote and pausing the movie. "I thought perhaps you could make an exception; I thought you wouldn't mind; I thought—"

"Well, you thought wrong," he said flatly, pushing away from her slightly. He simply couldn't handle this proximity, not now, not yet…

She blinked back at him, the look on her face making his insides churn. "I thought you might want to," she said quietly.

Swallowing, he stared back at her and tried again weakly. "Amy, I don't see how 'cuddling' on a regular basis is going to further our relationship—"

"I've had it," she cut in, rising from her spot. "Sheldon, if you can't see the benefit in holding your girlfriend, if you won't even make that effort, then I don't know what we're doing."

The room was swimming, his head cloudy with the fear of confrontation. What could he say, when he simply didn't know himself?

"I wish you wanted to touch me," she whispered, and he couldn't bear to look at her, because he knew she was near tears. "You make me feel like what I want is wrong; that it makes _me _wrong."

_It doesn't. _"Intimacy?" he asked quietly, fully aware of the answer.

"Yes," she said, her voice wavering. "I want to be _desired_, Sheldon. I want you to throw me onto this couch and have your way with me, right here, right now. I want to touch you, taste you, _feel _you; but most of all, I want to show you how much you mean to me, in every single way."

Her words swam in his head, now throbbing, and his heart thumped against his ribcage, pulse rushing in his ears. Above all, he had to remain focused, rational, true. "We have no need for that kind of carnal desire, Amy, I think we have more than that."

Finally, he looked up at her, glassy-eyed and a sad smile tainting her face. It was torturous; the most honest thing he'd ever said to her seemingly tearing her heart in two. "Maybe you should go," she said quietly.

* * *

She felt as though she were sinking, collapsing into a sea of oversized pillows and vibrantly coloured covers. Shirt unbuttoned and her face smeared with blackened tears, she thought of her mother, on her very first day of senior high.

"_Boys will only steal your heart, your soul and your virginity, and they will never give it back."_

Through her sobbing, she laughed bitterly. This man, the man she loved beyond reason, was so different, and had hardly stolen a thing.

_I'd love to see you again, Amy._

Taking a long breath, she turned onto her stomach, snatching for her cell phone and dialling a number she'd promised she wouldn't; calling on the one person who understood.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum**

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Ooo, George is upsetting the apple cart in Shamyland—oh no! Thank you all for your deluge of reviews; I am so humbled to hear your thoughts, and it's fascinating to hear opinions of the elusive brother of Sheldon! Enjoy, and reviews are always welcomed.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_Please don't come over here, please don't come over here…_

The crisp mid-morning sun glared down onto his back, and he slunk lower into the small plastic chair, ducking behind the shadowed brim of his hat. A gust of wind rattled the table in front of him, sending scribbled drawings and crayons tumbling into the grass, but he kept staring into his lap.

"You could just stand up to them, you know," a girlish murmur came from across the table, and he glanced up. Round, hazel eyes stared widely back at him, and the little girl sniffed, rubbing underneath her nose with the sleeve of her cardigan.

He said nothing; casting his eyes down once again to where she was wedged between his skinny thighs; cold, hard plastic digging into the bare skin of his knees.

"_Yo, douchebag, what you got there?"_

There was a scuffle across the gravel and suddenly two taller figures were beside him, looming over him. Holding his breath and keeping his eyes down, he ran a tiny finger over the edge of her red dress and down the smooth surface of her caramel thigh. _Be strong, like the Lieutenant…_

"_Is that a _doll_?"_

He snatched her from his grasp, and he finally looked up at his assailants. "Hey—give that back, it's mine—"

The boy with the short, sandy hair twisted her arm backward, and then tossed her to his friend, laughing. "Can you believe it—this _retard_ likes playing with dolls!"

He could feel the anger, the anxiety, crawling up his throat. "It's not a doll—she's an action figure—"

"Like that makes it any better," the other boy sneered, and then ran his fingers across her chest. _"Ooo, yes Shelly, that feels nice—"_

The scorching in his throat increased, and he knelt up on his chair, grabbing for her. "Stop it!"

In the next instant, he was flat on the gravel, palms and knees burning. He groaned, lifting a tender hand and brushing away the tiny stones imprinted into his flesh. _Only a few more years and I'll be out of here…_

A hand grabbed the neck of his t-shirt, yanking him back and putting pressure on his windpipe. "We know exactly what to do with little nerds who play with dolls—"

"_What the hell, dude?"_

The sound of his brother's voice echoed in his ears as he hit the pavement once again, coughing and spluttering. In front of him, she lay, scraped and battered with a missing arm. He snatched for her, cradling the figure in his hands.

"_That's my brother, idiots—fuck off!"_

A scramble of shoes and snickers faded into the playground and he heard his brother sigh above him. "Get up," he said quietly.

Dragging himself to his feet, he sat on the edge of his plastic chair, dusting the dirt from his clothes. His brother, so much taller and just a little older, looked down at him, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Give me that," he muttered, taking her from his arms.

Unwillingly, he handed the action figure over, watching as his brother reached for the sticky tape on the tiny table. "George, I don't think that sticky tape is going to fix her," he said grimly.

Ignoring him, George wrapped the tape around her torso and beneath her armpit, effectively attaching the arm to the side of her body. He handed her back gingerly, and then reached for another two lengths of tape, sticking them across his younger brother's chest, right over his heart. "Sticky tape fixes everything."

* * *

_This was a bad idea._

She stood anxiously outside a local bar, shivering as the night air began to roll into the quiet late afternoon. The streetlight above her flickered on, and she drew a long, deep breath, clutching her cardigan around her tighter. This _was _a bad idea; she knew it—he would get the wrong impression and she would have to endure those _unsettling _blue eyes and that smile…

Huffing, she glanced down the street, looking for his tall outline. They had agreed to meet at six, and it was going on ten past—where was he?

"Hey," a deep, gravelly voice sounded from behind her, and she jumped, spinning to face him. Hands in the pockets of his faded jeans, he smiled at her cheekily. "So you decided to meet me after all."

Amy swallowed, releasing a gasp of air she had been holding and shooting him a strained smile in return. "It would seem so," she said, and he cocked his head, mischievous smirk faltering.

"Something's wrong," he said flatly, and she noticed his jaw clench. "Let's go in."

They headed in and took a seat at a secluded table in the far corner of the bar, yet to come alive with Saturday night patrons. Amy settled into her spot, gazing around the place—dimly lit with sleek, orange floor lamps and the soft hum of music playing in the background.

George looked over at her, and she felt her stomach drop; the allure of his broad chest and masculine neck never failing to surprise her. _So Sheldon, but so _not. "Coffee? Tea?" he cast his eye over her further, and frowned. "Something a little stronger?"

She could feel the events of the day creeping up on her, weighing down on her shoulders. "A glass of the house wine, please."

George drew a single eyebrow up in her direction, face still wary, and made his way across to the bar. She watched him go, eyes trailing over his three-quarter sleeved, tight white top and the cluster of armbands around his wrist. Diving into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet, and her eyes travelled down his lean back to his behind, and she looked away, flushing.

"Here," he said softly, returning with a glass of bubbly wine for her. Taking a seat across from her, he lifted his own drink to his lips and then placed it back down, tilting it from side to side, watching the golden liquid roll across the glass. For the first time since she had met him, he seemed impassive—controlled and unreadable.

_Yep, this was a terrible idea. _She felt that uncertainty take a hold of her once again. "George," she started, "I hardly know you—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked—"

"What happened?" he interrupted, blue eyes locking with her own. There was something about him; something that stopped her in her tracks, something she couldn't put her finger on.

"What did you mean 'we're all the way we are for a reason'?" she found herself asking quietly, drawing her finger around the rim of her wine glass.

George smirked, and then shook his head bitterly. "Sheldon."

"Yes," she confirmed softly, and took another sip of her drink. "You haven't answered my question."

"You haven't answered mine," he responded, never taking his eyes off her. "What happened with him?"

To her surprise, she laughed. "Nothing; that's just it." She paused, feeling the dam break; desperate to speak to _someone _who might just understand. "You were right—we re-wrote the handholding specific section of our Relationship Agreement because, for the first time in two years, my boyfriend held my hand."

The words lingered in the air for a moment, and she felt like someone had taken a heavy, dusty brick off her chest. Rubbing her hand across her forehead, she stared at the smattering of light chest hair peeking out from beneath George's V-neck top, and then growled at herself, reaching for her drink.

"That's ridiculous," George said, and then ducked his head to catch her gaze that she had tried to avert away. "But unsurprising."

"No," she said, sipping her wine. "What's ridiculous is that I thought we were actually getting somewhere."

George tilted his head, watching her closely. "You know him better than this. I know you do. I know I do."

_Dumb as a box of rocks, my ass. _"Maybe."

"Come on," he said, leaning forward onto his forearms. "You're trying to tell me that a woman who's known my brother for two years, a woman who studies _the brain_, 'maybe' knew what he was like?"

She looked up at him, feeling vulnerable all over again. "I rested my head on his shoulder, for God's sake, and he flipped out," she gritted her teeth and huffed. "I understand what's going on in his mind, I do, but I also know that getting anywhere is going to take time, and I suppose I thought…"

_That he was ready? That he wanted me? _She bit her lip, staring at the black linoleum table. _That things were changing?_

"You thought what any woman would think," George said, sitting back once again and crossing his ankle over his knee. He stared absently at the tumbler in his hand before speaking again, his voice quiet. "We're all the way we are because of what we've seen, what we've been through, and Sheldon's been through a bit."

Amy gazed at him, his vague words taking the form of an admission; tinged around the edges with bitterness. She knew Sheldon's childhood had been 'hell'; he'd told her that himself, but never had he gone into further detail—the rest she had surmised from his behaviour. Tilting her head, she watched George closely; taking another sip of his drink and shuffling in his seat. "Have you been through a bit?" she asked softly, once again unable to control the words coming out of her mouth.

Skimming a hand through his short hair, he smirked at her. "How do you do that?"

She blinked at him, confused. "What?"

"Look at me like you can see the cogs turning up here," he tapped the side of his head, and then shook it lightly. "Turn the question back on me."

Amy straightened. "Well, a doctorate in neurobiology certainly makes one curious as to 'seeing the cogs turn'," she said lightly, smiling at him.

"Nah," he said, scrunching his nose and grinning back. "There's something more, something about you. You're different."

"To what?" she blurted, caught off-guard by his echo of her own thoughts earlier.

He drew his eyes back up to hers, dark beneath strong brows. "I've known a lot of women, and they've always been…around. I suppose I've been used to getting what I want," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But when I met you, I knew you were different—there's more in you than what you're giving."

Staring back at him, she felt her heartbeat thumping against her ribcage, and fleetingly wondered if he could hear it. She had fallen, magnificently, into the deep end and had no idea what to say. "George—"

Suddenly his eyes shifted across to the bar, and she paused, following his gaze. A young, fiery-haired waitress leant against a stool, tray under one arm whilst the other wiped down the counter. She glanced up, and George shot her a spectacular smile. Fumbling with the cloth, she untucked her notepad and pen from the pocket of her short apron, rushing over to them. "So sorry—what can I can get you?"

_Sorry for what? _Amy thought, watching incredulously as George cocked his head at her, that _damn _smile still gracing his features.

"Another glass of the house wine for my friend, and a Wild Turkey on the rocks for myself," he said smoothly, eyes focused on the waitress.

"Oh, no, I'm fine—thank you," Amy said, holding up the last mouthful of her wine indicatively. The exchange was utterly intriguing.

The young girl giggled, tossing her red curls to the side. "Just the Wild Turkey, then?"

Reaching for his wallet, George nodded. "Please."

She jotted down the order, and then looked at George's outstretched hand, money between his fingertips. "Don't—this one's on me."

Amy watched, jaw dropped, as the waitress sashayed back to the bar, arranging his drink with a heightened amount of fervour. Her eyes shot back to George, who was now completely disinterested, tucking his wallet back into his jeans and turning his attention to her once more. That smile, the magnetic pull of him, was all it took to lure her over.

"Amy," he said huskily, and she was whipped from her thoughts; her name a delicious train wreck on his lips. "I may not be as smart as Sheldon, but I sure as hell am smart enough to know that he's not giving you what you want, and he never will."

"He might," she said weakly, looking down into her lap. _Maybe…one day. _His hand snaked across the table, swiftly taking her own, sending another buzz of tingles up her arm. "What are you doing, George?"

"Something that took him two years to do," he said, running the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. The contact—so minor yet so sensual—resonated through her whole body; pooling in the pit of her stomach and tickling between her legs. She snatched her hand away, and he smiled at her faintly. "I know you want more than that. You deserve more than that."

_You love your boyfriend—his mind, his body, his…everything. _She set her jaw, closing her eyes tightly. _Then why do you feel so…dissatisfied?_

"I like you, Amy, a lot," George continued, and she peered back up at him hesitantly. "And if he's not willing to fight for you then why shouldn't others get a fair go?"

* * *

"_Go?" he said, following her into the kitchen. "Go where?"_

"_Anywhere but here," she spat, her back to him as she put away a stack of dishes. "I need some space, Sheldon."_

_How could she 'need' space? "Amy, you can't 'need' space—"_

_She rounded on him, eyes red and cheeks flushed. "Just go, Sheldon! I don't want you here."_

_Taking a shaky breath, he stiffened, unable to curb the anger tightening in his chest. "Fine," he said bluntly, and snatched for his windbreaker. "You're wasting my time anyway."_

_He heard a gasp, or perhaps it was a sniffle, as he raced out of her apartment, slamming the door behind him. Grasping for his phone, he held it to his ear, near seething. "Leonard, I need you to pick me up. Now."_

Sheldon lay, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling light above him until he could see nothing but bright yellow blotches in front of his vision. Her voice still rang in his ears, strained and saddened. _I want to touch you, taste you, feel you…_

He groaned, throwing a hand across his eyes. Why did her words keep replaying, over and over, in his head? Why did that look on her face make him feel sick to the stomach?

It didn't matter. She was holding him back; he had important work to achieve, and it was laundry night. _She_ was the one who broke the rules, not him.

There was a gentle knock at his bedroom door, and a muffled voice sounded on the other side. "Sheldon?"

"Do not enter," he warned, his voice coming out raspy and high-pitched.

"Come on, Sheldon, at least tell me what happened," Leonard whined. "You can't stay in there all night."

Sheldon pursed his lips and huffed. "Watch me."

The door clicked and Sheldon uncovered his eyes, blinded by the harsh light of his bedroom. Leonard's head popped through the gap, an eyebrow arched in his direction. "Raj and Howard are here, too, and we're worried about you—"

Leaning up on his elbows, Sheldon glared at him. "I told you: do not enter! And how can Wolowitz be 'here'?"

Sighing, Leonard entered the room and closed the door behind him, hands folded across his chest. "You've been in here for two hours since I brought you back from Amy's, and you spent the entire drive home humming '_I Shot the Sheriff'_."

Swinging his long legs over the edge over his bed, Sheldon rose to his full height, towering over the smaller physicist. "Out. Now."

Leonard's defiance wavered and he frowned. "What happened, Sheldon?"

Growling, Sheldon turned his back on his stubborn friend, peeling his windbreaker off his shoulders. _She accosted me! She challenged the Relationship Agreement! She kicked me out! _"Nothing," he said tersely, suddenly feeling as though the weight of her head was against his shoulder, creeping into the nook of his neck. "We had a minor dispute."

"Doesn't look so minor to me," Leonard observed, leaning against the wall. "Looks like you've been kicked where it hurts."

Sheldon slipped the jacket onto a coat hanger and hung it in his closet, shutting it forcefully and glowering at Leonard. "Nobody kicked anyone anywhere—now if you'd please leave, I—"

"She made a move on you, didn't she?" Leonard said, eyes widening behind his chunky glasses. The fine trace of pity disappeared from his face and he tilted his head, scowling disapprovingly. "What did you do?"

"What did _I_ do?" Sheldon cried defensively. "The woman practically threw herself at me; resting her head on my shoulder like it was her pillow—"

"She rested her head on your _shoulder_?" Leonard repeated, aghast. "_That's _'throwing herself' at you?"

"_That's definitely not 'throwing herself' at you, dude," _sounded a heavily accented voice on the other side of the door, and Sheldon tossed his hands in the air.

Leonard smirked and nodded toward the door. "He's right."

Grasping at the doorknob, Sheldon wrenched open the bedroom door, revealing a sheepish Raj holding a laptop. He grinned and spun the laptop awkwardly in his arms. "It's Howard—see!"

"Good evening, unhappy Earthling!" Howard's bobbing face beamed back at him, unshaven and haggard. "Having some lady problems, are we?"

Sheldon grumbled a hello and slipped past the group down the hallway. "Is no place my sanctuary?"

"Nope," Leonard said smugly, following him into the kitchen. "I may not know all the details with this one, Sheldon, but it sounds like you're the one in the wrong."

Gritting his teeth, Sheldon pulled the orange juice from the refrigerator door and placed it roughly on the counter. "Hardly," he said, pouring the juice into a tall glass. "She forced herself upon me, and then proceeded to tell me that _I _made her feel 'wrong' for wanting to engage in coitus. Honestly, it's as though she doesn't see the tedious complications physical affection bring to relationships—"

"You told her that?" Raj asked, setting the laptop on the counter beside him.

"Well, not in as many words—"

Raj groaned, rubbing his forehead. "You can't say that to a girl—turning her down was your first mistake. Poor Amy."

_If you can't see the benefit of holding your girlfriend, if you want even make that effort, then I don't know what we're doing._ Sheldon chewed on the inside of his lip, cursing his eidetic memory. He hadn't hurt her…had he?

"Yep, hate to say it but you've taken a pretty solid step toward Splitsville," Howard commented, the video line crackling slightly.

Leonard held up a hand to silence their floating friend, looking warily at Sheldon, who was staring into his juice. "I'm sure it's not that bad, maybe you should just talk to her."

Was that what their fight had been—an end to their relationship? Was his reluctance their turning point? Before he could stop himself, he spoke aloud. "I told her we have no need for that kind of carnal desire," he frowned, and then looked up at his three friends, staring at him wide-eyed. "That we have something more than that."

Beside him, Leonard blew out a long breath and shook his head. "Well, that's pretty honest—what did she say to that?"

_Maybe you should go._ Sheldon clenched his jaw and reached for his drink. "She told me to get out," he said, and then hesitated. "That's not some alternate form of a relationship termination, is it?"

Leonard took a seat across from him, looking troubled. "I don't _think _so, but it could be."

Shaking his head, Raj looked over at Howard, cupping his hairy chin in his hands solemnly. "I don't think so either—Howard?"

Pressing his lips together, the astronaut shrugged. "What do I look like to you, the Out of This World Relationship Advice line?"

Leonard rolled his eyes, and then looked across at Sheldon. "She's coming here for dinner with the rest of the group, right? Just talk to her then, I'm sure everything will be fine."

"She may not come at all," Sheldon said, pursing his lips. He needed time to think, alone. "If you'll excuse me."

Shuffling down the hallway once again, he strode into his bedroom and flopped onto the end of his bed, running a hand over his face. This entire mess was about intimacy, about his weakest point.

_Sure didn't stop you from fantasising about her in the shower, Cooper_.

"I did not," he grumbled to himself, desperately trying to disperse with the horrid memory. _I refuse to acknowledge that occurrence; it was a feeble mistake sorely made by a weak man. _

But was it a mistake that—should he have told her—could have stopped her from pushing him away?

* * *

_She drew her slender knees higher up onto the cushion beside him, shuffling her warm body closer to his. The room was dark and cloudy, smelling faintly of flowers, and the television across the room swum with white noise, illuminating her pale skin. Bending her neck ever so slightly, she rested her head on his chest, her soft chestnut hair tickling his chin. It was silent; the only sound her laboured breathing against him, hot on his skin. A dainty, gentle hand trailed over the fabric of his pants, tracing the seam of between his thighs. Her fingertips were painted emerald green, and felt like feathers against his leg. Groaning, he tensed and rolled his head back, his veins throbbing beneath his skin, as though they were ready to explode. Her fingers reached the apex of his thighs and lingered for a moment before grazing down the other side teasingly, and he twitched beneath her touch. She smiled against his chest and tilted her head up to him, dragging her lips over his neck, swiping the lobe of his ear with her tongue. Shivering, he looked down at her, so close. "Isn't this what you want, Dr Cooper?"_

He awoke with a start, opening his gritty eyes unwillingly and stretching his neck, stiff from the lack of pillow beneath his head. His legs were still dangling over the edge of his bed where he had left them, and his bedroom light was—once again—glaring down at him, interrogating him. A thin sheen of sweat lined his forehead, and he hissed at the slight tightness around the crotch of his pants. _Where on earth did that come from?_

"_Where's Sheldon? Isn't he joining us for dinner?" _he heard Penny ask in the living area, and there was a thud of footsteps followed by a heavy thumping against his bedroom door. _"Sheldon!"_

Groaning, he pushed himself off the bed and edged the door open, glaring at the Nebraskan waitress through the crack. "Yes, Penny?"

She blinked at him, tilting her head; blonde curls tumbling to one side. "You look weird," she observed, and then narrowed her eyes. "What's going on? Is Amy in there with you?"

Sheldon huffed, coming out of his room and closing the door behind him. "No, Amy most assuredly is _not _in my bedroom."

"Well she isn't here," she replied, making her way back down the hall. "And she hasn't replied to the texts I sent her—thought she may have been a little preoccupied. Weren't the two of you having an spur-of-the-moment date this afternoon?"

"Yes," he snapped, following her and making his way across to his spot. "And I am unable to quantify why she hasn't replied to your messages."

Taking her seat in the armchair, Penny looked over at Leonard on the other end of the couch and arched an eyebrow sceptically. "Okay," she said slowly, heaping a spoonful of rice into her mouth. "Where's George? I saw him earlier and he said he'd be joining us."

Spinning his desk chair from side to side, beer in hand, Raj frowned. "Yeah, where is that delightful cowboy? He said he'd play a death-defying battle round of Mario Kart with me tonight."

Leonard poked his fork in the air, gulping down his food. "He went out this afternoon, said he was going to meet someone for a drink."

_Like he'd even know anyone around here. _Sheldon thought, stabbing his dumpling aggressively and ripping off the end with his teeth. He stared down at his phone on the coffee table, screen dark and motionless. Perhaps she wasn't coming at all.

"Oh, Penny," Bernadette chirped suddenly from beside her blonde friend. "Howie told me that the organiser from the place they go to play paintball is looking for another team to play next weekend, and I was thinking that the three of us girls and George could sign up."

Penny crossed her legs underneath her. "You can shoot?"

"Dad's ex-cop, what do you think?" Bernadette said proudly, and then frowned. "I never really liked guns though…but what could a little paint do?"

"A lot," Leonard interrupted through a mouthful, and then looked over at Sheldon. "Can George shoot?"

"'Can George shoot?'" Sheldon parroted mockingly, shaking his head. "Um, the man's Texan, and—unfortunately—we share the same useless DNA provided by our father; good aim."

"Oh great," Raj said tiredly, "another Texan giant and a tiny assassin. Now we're doomed."

A heated match of paintball was the furthest thing from his mind in that moment, and Sheldon tossed his cutlery into the plastic dish, frustrated. Grabbing his phone, he typed out a message to Amy, erasing and re-writing it four times before sending it off. _Are you coming? _No. _Where are you?_ No. _This is your fault, you know. _Definitely not.

_Amy, are you still my girlfriend?_

As if on queue, the front door of their apartment swung open and Amy stepped inside, hair windswept and cheeks rosy. Sheldon felt his jaw grow slack, and their gazes met momentarily, before she pulled her eyes away. Right behind her, looking cool and unfazed, but just as windswept, was his brother.

Their eyes locked, and Sheldon felt his jaw clench, chest filling with poisonous threat. _No you don't, George. She's mine._


	5. Chapter 5

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum**

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Here we have chapter five…with a little more backstory, a little more tension-building, and soon things are going to fly. Thank you all so, so much for the feedback—it's been amazing hearing all the thoughts on George and a threatened Sheldon and a taken Amy. There have been some really fantastic comments on George's character and motives, a lot of which are spot on so keep up the good work. All in good time, my pretties…

Also, Vamplover669, I tend to post on a Thursday/Friday Australian time…so the latter part of the week anyway.

Enjoy, and—as always—reviews are always welcome.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_It's got to be around here somewhere…_

Creeping around the edge of the old wooden door, he teetered on tip-toe around the piles of strewn dirty clothing, the debacle that was his brother's bedroom. He scrunched his nose at an acrid odour hanging in the air, and dipped into his pocket for one of his mother's laundry pegs, pinching it across it nostrils painfully. "Pain is better than the stench, Cooper…" he muttered under his breath.

A slither of moonlight shone through the heavy dark drapes, lighting up the sea of mess on the unseeable carpet. Squeezing one end of his old grabber toy tightly, he watched the claws open and close around a pair of jeans, and he deposited them out of his way. The path clear, he continued trudging into the depths of the bedroom, on the hunt for something he was _sure _had been stolen from him.

It was late, well beyond his bedtime, and his mother was out with his twin finding her the 'perfect' dress for an upcoming hoedown that he most certainly would _not _be attending—the mere concept of a hall full of teenagers jigging about to the beat of their hormones making him gag. His father—naturally—was downstairs watching a football match from the groggy inside of his eyelids, a drink in each hand. There was no one left but him; his brother was never here, not any more.

_Where would that slimy savage have put my journal?_

He paced around the room, slowly but efficiently, opening draws and tossing items aside, desperate to find it. If the great oaf hadn't taken such an interest in tormenting him, intent on uncovering his private thoughts and blabbering to his friends, he would be off working on something more important. Nevertheless, his brother's attempts had been futile—the journal stolen containing nothing more than a bundle of equations and notes.

_Like I would _actually_ write my feelings in a diary. That's something Missy would do._

Casting his eye under the bed—was that _orange peel?_—he sat up, huffing and wiping his forehead, beaded with sweat. It was hot and stuffy and suffocating, and he was having no success. Across from him, the slats in the wardrobe caught his eye, and he shuffled across the room, opening the doors.

_A-ha! _

There it lay, in amongst a mountain of dirty magazines and beer bottles. He clasped it with his grabber toy, and slid it into a plastic bag, eying it gingerly. Who knows what kind of germs were mutating on its very cover—

"_Shh! George, someone's going to catch us—will you shut up?"_

A rustling in the tree outside his brother's bedroom window, accompanied by the high-pitched whisper of a female, jolted him into action, and he snapped his head across to the curtains, now being drawn open by a green finger-nailed hand. Hastily, he threw himself into the closet, pulling the door closed behind him.

"_Stop stressing, Sarah, no one's going to catch us—Dad's passed out on the couch downstairs and Mom and Missy are out shopping."_

Through the slats, he could see the scantily dressed teenage girl toss her skinny legs over the windowsill, and giggle as she toppled to the floor, a pink coloured bottle in her left hand. Behind her, his brother leapt over the threshold, grinning down at his companion, eyes glassy and bloodshot.

"And what about your weirdo brother?" she slurred at him, hauling herself to her feet with his assistance. He felt his heart thumping in his chest, and he slapped a hand over his mouth, worried the sound would leap out.

George shrugged, pulling her toward him. "He's in his room, but if we're quiet, he won't even know," he ran a hand up her exposed thigh and under the denim of her short shorts, squeezing the flesh of her behind. Swallowing, Sheldon looked down into his lap, clutching his journal to his chest.

There was the distinct wet sound of kissing and Sheldon screwed up his nose in digust, wishing he'd never ventured into this room. The girl moaned and tossed her head back, bird nest-like hairdo dangling backward as George ran his lips down her neck, pulling her top over her head and tossing it aside. "George…"

Who was this boy? This _lost _boy?

He pulled the girl back onto the bed, and she straddled his hips, trailing the fluorescent green nails down his abdomen. Pulling her down for another noisy kiss, George reached for the buckle of his belt, and Sheldon squeezed his eyes closed.

At the sound of his fly being unzipped, he heard the girl muffle a protest. "George—what are you doing—"

"Isn't this what you want?" he asked her brazenly, his voice hoarse. "'Cause I'm sure as hell it's what I want."

Peering through a crack in his fingers, he watched as the girl sat up, adjusting her bra back to centre. "Look I know I said I'd come home with you but I didn't think we'd—"

"Sarah," George said softly, pushing up on his elbows. "Look at you—you're beautiful, and you deserve this. Better off with a guy like me rather than a dick like them, huh?"

Holding his breath, Sheldon watched as the girl cocked her head, gazing at George's smile, leaning into the palm of his hand gently stroking her cheek. This certainly was _not_ how he'd envisaged his brother's escapades turning out. "George, I…"

"Please," he whispered rawly, tugging her down for another kiss. She relented for a moment, and then pulled away, throwing herself off him and groping for her top off the floor. "What the _fuck_, Sarah?"

She fumbled with her shoes, hopping as she slipped them onto her feet. "I'm sorry, George, I really am—I'm just not ready for this." Awkwardly, she climbed back out of the window, blowing him a kiss as she scaled the side of their family home.

George flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, his face hard. Suddenly, he lashed out at the lamp on his nightstand, sending it across the room where it smashed into a million pieces. Sheldon jumped, and held his breath once again, tugging his long legs against his chest tighter. His brother huffed, slinging an arm across his eyes, and—after a moment—all Sheldon heard was a tiny muffled sob, lonely in the hot Texas night air.

Who was this boy? This _lost _boy?

* * *

She slipped past him quietly, the hem of her denim skirt brushing his knee lightly and he shrank away, keeping a firm eye on her as she took her usual seat beside him. Hunching his shoulders, he drew his plastic dish closer and took a slow bite, watching her out of his peripheral vision with bated breath. The gap between their thighs was larger than usual, tenser, but nevertheless he could still feel her heat radiating against his own leg.

"Where have you two been?" Leonard asked sceptically, eyeing George as he rolled another chair across to sit beside Bernadette.

Snapping his eyes up to his brother, Sheldon noticed Amy fidgeting beside him. "Oh, we just met in the—"

"We met for drinks," George interrupted, raising a fiendish eyebrow at her. Huffing, Sheldon felt his chest tighten as he cast his gaze directly on Amy, who was suddenly taking an abnormal interest in her brazed chicken.

Met for _drinks?_ She kicks him out and then seeks out the phony comfort of his miscreant brother? _Alone?_ He wouldn't have it. "Oh? And whereabouts did you gallivant off to at this time of night? A repugnant bar filled with all manner of lowlifes and ruffians?" Sheldon hissed, the emotion rising to his throat like burning bile.

George looked back at him coolly, a tiny smirk on his lips. "Something like that, yeah."

_Control yourself, Cooper. _Slapping his dish onto the coffee table for the second time that evening, Sheldon leant forward in his seat, pointing accusingly at George. "If you think you can just walk in here and—"

"Okay!" Penny cut in loudly, rising from the armchair. Leaning across the bickering siblings, she scooped up the empty containers. "Let me just get these for you...now who's up for dessert? Ice-cream? Sure! Everyone loves ice-cream—well, except Leonard, and we wouldn't wanna stink up the place; it already reeks of _something_."

Bernadette fumbled her way out of her desk chair, clearing her throat lightly. "I'll help you," she said, and then very deliberately jerked her head at Amy, indicating for her to follow them.

Next to him, Amy sighed and slunk past him again, crossing between the armchair and coffee table. George's stare was still fixed on him, and as she passed him he raised his hand lazily, knuckles skimming her hip. Sheldon ground his teeth as his brother looked back at him with eyes that suggested nothing short of a challenge. Propelling himself from his spot, he crossed the room to where the three women had their backs to him, exchanging hushed and hurried whispers.

He cleared his throat and straightened his spine. "If you hens could momentarily cease your chatter, I need a moment with Amy."

Penny flicked her head around, blonde hair swishing down her back, and gave him an icy glare. Holding up two fingers, she grabbed Bernadette and headed back toward the living area. "Two minutes."

Folding his arms across his chest, he watched as Amy's shoulders rose and fell with a large sigh before she turned to look at him, mirroring his stance. "Yes?"

He gulped, suddenly hesitant. "You didn't respond to my recent message," he stated, voice low.

Amy's strong façade faltered slightly, and she tilted her head. "I haven't checked my phone this evening."

"Well, I suggest you do—I require a firm answer to quell the uncertainty that is flooding my brain," he said as Amy dipped into her skirt pocket, drawing out her phone and locking those green eyes on her screen.

There was a moment of silence, and Amy blinked at the message, biting her lip. "I don't know," she said softly, her eyes down.

"You don't _know?_" Sheldon hissed. "You don't know and so you kick me out to go on a date with _him?_"

Her head snapped up to him and her green gaze burnt through him like a laser. "It wasn't a date; we met up for a drink—I needed someone to talk to—"

Sheldon narrowed his eyes, aggravation bubbling under his skin. "Why not one of your gal pals?"

"Someone who understands how I feel, Sheldon," she said quietly, leaning against the counter. "You can hardly argue that he doesn't know how his own brother can be—"

"He doesn't know me," he replied conceitedly. "He hardly knows himself."

Amy drew her eyebrows together and shook her head. "What is your problem with him, anyway? He seems like a friendly, happy individual looking for a fresh start and some support—"

"He'll be whatever you want him to be," he spat bitterly, looking past her. "He's good at that."

Dropping her hands to her sides, Amy stared at him intently, and—for a moment—he felt like she could see _everything_. "Regardless, I do not intend on cutting ties with him; he's your brother, and if you can't find a way to be okay with that then I suppose the answer is no."

The unsettling tingle of fear rattled in his chest. "Amy Farrah Fowler—I have not invested this amount of time into a relationship for you to just turn around and prematurely terminate everything—"

Unexpectedly, she took a step toward him, her short frame beneath his nose. She placed a hand on the centre of his chest, and he froze, holding his breath as she sighed. "Well then, Dr Cooper, I suggest you start proving yourself."

His title on her lips once again made his heart jump, and he hardly noticed that she had walked away, returning to the raucous bunch of hooligans behind them. She hadn't answered his question. Was there such a thing as an 'I don't know' status?

Could he stand not knowing?

For a moment, he stared at the tiled splashback in front of him, worn mint green shiningly clean and grout beaming white; because that was how he kept it. And he excelled at _everything_.

Spinning around, he glared at the back of his brother's head. _Challenge accepted.  
_

* * *

The blonde waitress slammed the front door of her apartment and stared daggers at her brilliant best friend. "Amy Farrah Fowler, what did you do?"

Settling her handbag onto the floor beside the couch, Amy blinked at Penny, now accompanied by her other best friend. Both wore the same dubious expression, arms folded across their bosoms. "Spit it out," Bernadette squeaked, pushing her back onto the couch and sitting beside.

"I don't understand—"

Penny sat beside her, cross one leg across the other. "You understand perfectly well. Now tell us what you did. Did you sleep with him?"

"_What?_ No, I—"

"Honey, you may be my best friend but cheating on someone with that certain someone's brother is _low_; trust me, I know."

"I can't believe you would hurt Sheldon like that, the poor thing probably has no idea what's going on—"

"I did _not_ sleep with George." Amy said sternly, holding up both of her hands to stop the yapping from either side of her. "We went out for a drink. That's it."

Beside her, Penny let out a sharp breath. "Good, I didn't think you had it in you."

"Why did you meet him for a drink, Amy?" Bernadette asked suspiciously, examining her through her red glasses.

"Sheldon and I had a fight," Amy began, sitting back into the couch and sighing. "I kicked him out."

"You _what?_" Penny said with an impressed smirk. "What did he do?"

Tugging on the sleeve of her striped cardigan, Amy kept her eyes in her lap. "It's more what he _didn't_ do…"

The two blonde girlfriends were silent for a moment before Bernadette spoke again, gently. "He rejected you?"

_Yes._ "If you call 'rejection' ripping your heart out of your chest and stomping on it."

Silently, Penny rose and went to the fridge, swinging open the freezer door and extracting a tub of ice-cream. She shuffled back over and dug a spoon into the dairy treat, scooping some out. "Eat," she ordered, and Amy obediently opened her mouth as Penny shovelled it in. "So, what happened?"

The icy dessert ran down her throat and she felt her chest tighten from the cold. "I attempted to initiate a cuddling session during our movie, and he—to use your phrasing—'freaked out'," she sighed again, closing her eyes at the horrid memory. "When I told him to get out he told me I was 'wasting his time'."

Bernadette looked at her sadly, and then reached for a spoon, digging in to the ice-cream as well. "And he left?"

"Yes," Amy said quietly, smoothing the blue fabric of her skirt. "And I was so mad and so upset—I just needed someone to talk to, but someone who understood how I _really _felt…so I called him."

"George?" Penny asked, crossing her legs beneath her.

Amy nodded, looking from one friend to another. "He'd told me he wanted to see me again, so I invited him for a drink, and we met up and…" _And he was wonderful._

Bernadette pursed her lips and exchanged worried glances with Penny. After a moment, Penny spoke. "You like him, don't you?" she asked quietly.

The very question Amy had tried to avoid was now spoken aloud, by none other than her gorgeous Nebraskan bestie. _Don't you? _"He said Sheldon would never change, and that I deserve more than that, and that there's more in me than what I'm giving…" she trailed off, frowning. "And then there was a very peculiar exchange with a red-headed waitress, which was just—"

"Stop avoiding the question." Bernadette said, eyebrows raised at her.

_Don't you? _She swallowed, giving them both a half smile. "He said he likes me, a lot, and he held my hand," she started, and Bernadette growled lightly. "I don't know."

Penny took another mouthful of ice-cream. "Sweetie, you've got to be happy in your relationship with Sheldon; this has got to work for both of you," she paused, swallowing. "But you hardly know anything about George, and there's just something about him; something dark…"

_Exactly—hence the attraction. _

"What is it about him, Amy?" Bernadette asked.

_The way he makes me feel. His eyes. His smile. His body. The mystery of him. _"There _is_ something about him; he has this irrefutable power over me, paired with this mysterious air…I've seen it. He's like a tomcat; dangerous and adventurous and interested in _me…_" What was she saying? "His mind…I just find myself wanting to know _more_."

Penny frowned. "Ames, he's not some science experiment—"

"What are you going to do?" Bernadette interrupted, cupping her chin in her dainty hand.

Chewing her bottom lip, Amy shrugged. "I told Sheldon he would have to prove himself or risk losing me." _To his own brother._

The petite strawberry blonde nodded in approval. "An ultimatum. Good."

Amy nodded back, but her stomach swirled with anxiety. Would her ultimatum be enough?

* * *

He stared at his dark ceiling intently, dotted with teeny glowing stars, and groaned, attempting once more to get comfortable. There were forty-one glow-in-the-dark stars littered across his indoor night sky, he'd counted—twelve times. It was nearing two in the morning, and sleep was evading the lanky physicist—replaced with a barrage of images of her hurt face, her strained words and her head on his shoulder.

This was all _his_ fault. If he had never come along _none _of this would have happened.

_Yes it would have, and you know it._

How could he give her what she wanted? He had already bent so far—letting her tower over him in that incredible costume, holding her hand in a moment of weakness, agreeing to continue the contact in spite of his discomfort—what more could she expect?

What more would he have to do to compete with _him?_

Closing his eyes, he drew in a long breath and rested his hands against his chest, over the spot where she had hours earlier. Despite his recent _feelings_, he could hardly accelerate the process further. And he didn't want to—becoming a victim to his baser urges was sure to compromise the beautiful mind he held so proudly.

_Then why did you dream about her touching you, kissing you, feeling you—_

He groaned, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and sliding his feet into his slippers. A cool drink of water was in order—either to consume or tip over himself if necessary.

Padding down the hallway, he noticed the television flickering with coloured light, and was unsurprised to see George lazing on the couch, wide awake. He grinned sleepily at Sheldon, muscly, bare arm behind his head. "Hey, bro."

Ignoring him, Sheldon filled a glass with freezing filtered water and took a large sip. He would _not _be off put by this half-naked ape.

"Can't sleep, huh?" George continued, fixing his eyes back on the television set. "Me neither…got this girl on my mind, and this couch is so damn uncomfortable to sleep on, so there's only one thing left to do…"

Sheldon stared him down, unimpressed—that particular reference he understood perfectly. _Control yourself, Cooper…_

"Tried Dad's good old solution for curing insomnia, but two glasses down and I can't seem to nod off," he waved an empty tumbler in his hand, the ice cubes clinking against the glass and the dregs of whiskey sliding pooling in the base.

Sheldon snatched his slippery glass and headed for the hallway. "Dad's dead, George."

Craning his neck to watch him go, George chuckled. "He's never really going to die and you know it."

Gritting his teeth, Sheldon turned his back to leave before George spoke again. "Oh, and Shelly? You'll be happy to know I got myself an apartment…over in Glendale."

* * *

"Order!" Sheldon said loudly, banging the end of his marker against his whiteboard. "This meeting is now in session—if I could please have your attention; I'm sure none of us want to be here any longer than required."

Shuffling awkwardly, Sheldon waited for the rowdy trio to stop chortling and get down to business. The four men—excluding Howard, who was entertaining Leonard and Raj via Skype—were gathered around Raj's tiny coffee table, unprepared for Sheldon's ominous emergency meeting.

From his spot on the couch, Leonard grinned goofily up at Sheldon. "Alright Sheldon, we're listening. Now tell us why you sent us all two emails, four texts and a Facebook invitation to this important 'emergency meeting'?"

"And why did it have to be at my place?" Raj asked, spinning his laptop to reveal their floating engineer friend.

"Yeah, Sheldon, this had better be good—I've got work I should be doing up here—"

"Oh bull hockey, you've got nothing better to than to float around repairing a glorified space toilet," Sheldon snapped, and unclipped the lid off his marker. "Now down to business—please draw your attention to the board."

The three boys squinted at Sheldon's messy handwriting on the small whiteboard, outlining what appeared to say 'Project Amy'. Leonard knitted his bushy eyebrows. "Um, Sheldon, what's all this about?"

Howard scrunched his nose, leaning forward until his slowly forming beard filled the lower portion of the screen. "I can't really read that from here—does it say 'Project Amy'?"

"Yeah, dude," Raj said, equally ambiguous. "What's the deal?"

Suddenly Sheldon felt uncomfortable, and cleared his throat. "It has become apparent that I may require the assistance of my dear friends to further advance the status of my relationship with Amy in order to avoid outside influences harming our current paradigm."

Leaning forward, Leonard tilted his head at his tall friend curiously. "Am I hearing this right? '_Further advance'_ your relationship with Amy?"

"Yes," Sheldon replied stiffly, feeling his cheeks redden and his palms become clammy. "On to the matter at hand—"

Jaw dropped, Raj looked from Leonard back to Sheldon. "Hold the phone—Sheldon wants to have sex with Amy?"

"Don't be silly—he wouldn't know how to do that," Howard joked, waving a hand dismissively at the comment.

Sheldon sighed, exasperated. "_Excuse me_, but I never said such a thing; I merely wish to ensure that Amy is, without doubt, _my_ girlfriend—belonging to me and no one else but me."

"What's this about, Sheldon?" Leonard asked seriously, folding his arms over his chest.

Scowling, Sheldon stretched his neck and looked across the room. Raj's untidy desk was covered in paperwork and journals, as well as multi-coloured Indian tapestry that made his head swim. Perhaps this is what it felt like to be high as a hippie.

"Recent events have revealed that I may need to step up my game or risk losing her to external forces," he said finally, gathering his thoughts once more. "On this rare occasion, I am putting aside my pride and humbly request your assistance."

Howard raised his eyebrows in surprise, nodding his head slowly. "And what exactly is in it for us…?"

Sheldon shrugged indifferently. "The feeling of accomplishment and delight in helping one's friend?"

"This is about George, isn't it, Sheldon?" Leonard asked abruptly, and Sheldon snapped his eyes across to his best friend. "You feel threatened by him."

Raj's eyes widened in acknowledgement, and he nodded, dark hair bouncing. "And so you should, that man is a beast."

Clenching his jaw, Sheldon popped the cap on and off his marker indecisively. Should he inform his friends of his conundrum, or keep them on a strict need-to-know basis?

"Look, Sheldon," Leonard began, looking up at him. "If I were in your situation, and my incredibly attractive, funny, friendly, sexy older brother took an interest in my girlfriend, I'll admit; I wouldn't know what to do. But I would know that I was trying everything I could to keep her around…and I can't say the same for you."

_No need for admissions—assumptions work nicely. _"Hence my request for your advice, lessons and ongoing support," he said quietly, and then diverted his attention back to his board, drawing up a messy table. "Now, we should begin with a chart of deeds I am willing to perform, and those I am not. Any suggestions?"

Raj bounced in his spot, brimming with ideas. "How about roses? A romantic dinner? Ooo surprises—women _love_ surprises!"

Sheldon wrinkled his nose in distaste and scribbled the first two suggestions on the right side of the board. "The roses and romantic dinner does not interest me, and whilst I do despise surprises myself, I'm sure I could arrange one for someone else," he said, and hastily wrote 'surprises' on the left side of the board. "What kind of surprises were you thinking of, Raj?"

Shrugging, Raj smiled. "I don't know…buy her things, take her some place, or just pay her a surprise visit on a night that isn't Date Night."

Sticking out his bottom lip, Sheldon considered the prospect and then smiled back at his Indian friend. "Alright, that I can do," he said, and then turned his attention to the other scientists, both quiet with concentration. "See gentlemen—productive solutions. What else?"

"You could always take a real leaf out of Raj's book and down a few drinks before speaking to her; that certainly seems to free up the tongue, so to speak," Howard commented dryly.

Overlooking the sarcasm, Sheldon nodded once again. "Well, I did consume a hefty amount of alcohol at your bachelor party, and surely such a quantity wouldn't be necessary to 'let loose' a little around the vixen—alright, we'll put that over here," he added the suggestion to the left column, and then folded his arms over his chest. "Leonard, anything?"

Sighing, Leonard shook his head lightly. "Sheldon, we can give you all the stupid suggestions you want on how to woo your own girlfriend, but at the end of the day what you really need to do is some…self-exploration."

"What, like finding my inner hippie?" Sheldon asked, confused.

"I guess," Leonard said slowly, and then huffed when neither of his other friends came to his rescue. "Sheldon, you refuse to acknowledge or even register your own feelings on not only Amy but just…everything. So, yeah, you need to think about telling her how you feel."

The comment surprised Sheldon somewhat, and he sat down in the adjacent loveseat. "Why would I do that when my only good example of such an act is your confession of undying love to the Nebraskan waitress, who then tore your heart out and spit on it like a freshly cooked hamburger?"

"Hey, what about Bernie and I—"

"Oh you two don't count, you have some odd little-people magnetism that draws you to one another," Sheldon said sharply, and Howard rolled his eyes.

"Penny and I are working things out, slowly—you know that, Sheldon," Leonard continued, ignoring the bicker. "There's more to it with you anyway—when I say _self-exploration_ I mean it quite literally."

_What on earth is this man talking about?_

Howard cleared his throat, and Sheldon glanced at him. "What your good friend over here is trying to say is you need a bit of hands on training; wrestle the eel, if you will."

_They're all mad. _"What?"

"You know—rough up the suspect, jerk the gherkin—"

"Oh, Howard, really?" Leonard protested, shaking his head.

Raj rolled his eyes at the other men. "What they are _both_ trying to say is that you need to become a little more familiar with every part of your body."

_Oh. _Swallowing sharply, Sheldon felt his stomach turn, memories of his scarce few encounters with himself making him feel dirty. "I see…"

Leonard lit up, poking him in the arm. "You know how you told me you've been having affectionate feelings for Amy, at inappropriate times?"

_Where is he going with this?_ "Yes…"

"Well, during this…exploration…those thoughts would most definitely be appropriate."

The three men stared at Sheldon, who pursed his lips at their proposal. How could he argue, how could he lie, when the very morning prior he had thought about her slender hands snaking across him, wet and wanting?

"What do you say, buddy?" Howard asked enthusiastically.

Leonard shrugged, and snatched the marker from his hands, adding 'self exploration' to the left hand side of the board. "You've gotta start somewhere, and I'm betting your incident in the shower yesterday morning is _very_ telling of how you truly feel about this suggestion." The experimental physicist grinned back at him smugly, and Sheldon averted his eyes, blood once again rushing to the apples of his cheeks.

"Fine," he said quietly, seizing the marker from Leonard's grasp. "Now, on to paintball tactics for next weekend…"

* * *

_Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight…_

He ground his teeth together harshly, feeling the sweat drip from his brow and down his neck as he pushed up from the ground. Each time, the rug beneath him nearly touched the tip of his nose, before he hauled himself up again, his arms burning with tortuous, seamless pain.

_Back off—she's your brother's girlfriend. _

Hissing, he pushed for another, struggling to rid the innocent green gaze, the huskiness of her voice…

_You'll get what you want soon enough; she'll realise he's not worth the time…_

She was perfect, and there was something more to her, just like him. Sure, she was innocent and virginal, but he'd seen the way she looked at him, the way she looked at Penny, the way she looked at the world.

She was dark, in some way, just like him.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum**

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, it is certainly inspiring me to continue on writing! So glad that people are enjoying it. It's important that I reiterate, once again, that this story may not be everyone's cup of tea, and that I, personally, am incredibly happy with where the writers are taking the show and hence I am writing this story purely for fun. Anyway—please enjoy, and my apologies for the later update. Reviews are welcomed.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"_One block, two blocks, three blocks, four…"_

Teeny hands reached out for a single building block, chubby little fingers encircling the wooden cube, marked with a giant 'S'. Lifting it to his eye level, he peered at it, the character fuzzy but familiar.

"_Knock them down and they all fall on the floor…"_

Sniffling, he wriggled forward, placing the block on the colourful rug beneath him, right on top of the fire station and the parking lot. Gazing up, he looked around for another block; another familiar block.

"_One block, two blocks, three blocks, four…"_

Ted the teddy bear, no…Betsy the cow, no…Molly the dolly…no…ah-ha! Blinking, he looked across to his sister, pink-cheeked and brown curls bobbing as she pulled a hat onto the head of Annie the ragdoll. She had the block; lying in the fabric of her pretty purple dress.

"_Let's build them all up more…"_

Snatching for the next block, his twin huffed at him, but he ignored her, placing the block atop the last one carefully. There was a dull patter on the tin roof, likes coins in a piggy bank, and he frowned. How could he find the right blocks with all that noise?

"_Five blocks, six blocks, seven blocks, eight…"_

Rolling onto his tummy, he crawled forward, almost to the barrier of his wooden cage, and grabbed another two blocks. He proudly stacked them onto the others, and let out a squeal of glee.

"_Almost there, but you're just too late…"_

Suddenly, a figure cast a shadow over their pen. He craned his neck up, almost toppling backward, and cowered at the sight of his scrunched up face, marked with a scowl.

"Mary! The boy's doing somethin' weird again!"

Dark eyes looked down at his blocks, and his mouth moved slowly as he sounded the characters. His bubbly, bright sister had quietened; even the patter on the roof seemed softer in his presence.

"_Weird how?"_

He reached down into the pen and scooped up his twin, and she began to screech, high and loud. It made him want to howl, too.

"He spelled 'Shel' that's how! What's wrong with him?"

She came racing into the room, smelling like milk and honey and flowers. Taking his sister from his grubby arms, she smiled down into the pen. "Shelly's special, George, you know that. Be proud of the boy."

With that, she was gone again. Above him, his father growled and stalked away, mumbling under his breath. "A freak, more like it. Now cook me some dinner, bitch."

Gone again, he breathed, and reached for a little police car, rolling it down the street. Out of nowhere, a face appeared across from his, mushed between the bars of the play pen.

"Cook me some dinner, bitch,"his brother parroted, staring at him with a runny nose and a crooked beanie on his head. "You're a freak."

"_One block, two blocks, three blocks, four, knock them down and they all fall on the floor…"_

* * *

"Deep breath, Cooper, you can do this…"

He sat on the cold, slippery edge of the ceramic bath tub, shoulders hunched as he stared at the plughole, swirling and swallowing the water down the drain. Stalling, he pursed his lips and wriggled his toes against the adhesive mat beneath his fee—perforated for his safety, of course. The tiny bathroom was increasingly becoming hotter and hotter; filling with suffocating steam that hung in the air around him, but he didn't care.

Steaming water poured from the showerhead above, hitting his knees and scorching his shins. Clearing his throat, he leant forward, gently outlining the inner edge of his thigh with the tip of his finger and shivering as the sensation tingled up to his groin. Since he had last inspected himself at this proximity, his legs had grown—no longer were they stick-like; instead they were meatier, thicker. More masculine. He huffed, pulling his hand away from the lip of his thigh and drawing it through his dripping hair. How could he do this?

_Just look at it._

Clenching his teeth, he bent his neck and stared at the flesh between his legs; limp and cold and—quite frankly—_boring._ He squeezed his eyes closed, scowling. This was _ridiculous. _There was no way a highly advanced specimen such as himself could even ponder the notion of scheduled self-abuse, all for the sake of a woman.

_A woman you want all to yourself._

Standing up, he submerged his body beneath the jet of hot water, feeling it trickle over his face, down his torso and over his thighs. There had been _so few_ instances throughout his entire existence, and those he recalled hinged on the need for relief of some kind—always nameless, faceless, meaningless relief. Until days ago, when he'd caught himself thinking about _her _hands touching him, _her _eyes gazing up at him, _her _words in his ear…

He stepped out from under the stream, squeezing the water from his eyes and flicking his sopping hair. Perhaps there was no need for this. Perhaps he could appease her with simpler things, like roses and chocolates and cuddling. Surely there wasn't a need to get to know himself so intimately for…well…himself?

_She's going to want more eventually, and you won't be enough._

Determined, he reached for the soap as he had done so recently, and lathered the bar between his palms. Slowly, he drew his slippery hands across his chest, gliding along his hipbone and into the mess of curls between his thighs. He bit his lip, letting out a heavy sigh, and wrapped a single hand around himself gently, feeling his heart rate pick up instantly. Closing his eyes once again, he relaxed, letting his mind wander as he tentatively stroked his hand across the soft skin, creating a rhythm.

"…_I want to touch you, taste you, _feel _you…"_

Her words rang in his ears, and it took every ounce of strength to stop from pulling his occupied hand away from his apprehensive body. Within seconds, he could see her—green eyes peering at him beneath chunky glasses, the curve of her covered upper thigh as it met the short blue edge of her dress, the way she would smile at him. Beneath his hand, his body reacted, growing and aching in a way it hadn't before.

"…_I want to show you how much you mean to me, in every single way…"_

Letting out a shaky breath, he slid his slick hand back and forth, and the movement felt natural, normal. It felt _good._ Briefly, he wondered if he was burning away brain cells and decreasing his precious IQ, but instead his throat tightened with a strangled moan. Increasing his pace, he leant his head against the cold, wet tiles and gritted his teeth, feeling his body tense and his chest flush.

"…_I want you to throw me onto this couch and have your way with me, right here, right now…"_

He stopped, panting. He couldn't see it. He couldn't see himself throwing her anywhere, and he hardly knew what 'his way' was at all. Staring at grout in front of his eyes, he loosened his grip and let the water flow over his aching crotch, and he shook his head in frustration and revulsion. How did she do this to him? How could such simple, innocent thoughts of her provoke such a reaction from his body?

Why couldn't he envisage more?

Shutting off the water, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, rubbing the towel roughly over his reddened skin. Perhaps he needed to 'hit the books'. Perhaps he knew too little.

_Sheldon Cooper knowing too little? Ha! That's a first._

He smirked at his own internal joke, shrugging his robe over his shoulders and tying it around his waist securely. Wiping the condensation from the mirror, he stared at the man in front of him—stubbly cheeks tinged pink and hair still dripping. He sighed, and slipped his watch back onto his wrist. Quarter to five. The group would be unloading the minimal contents of his brother's belongings into his tiny new apartment, only a mere five minutes from his girlfriend's home. George's mysterious presence in California made him uneasy; the man had hardly travelled outside the Lone Star State, and yet there he was—renting an apartment and finding himself a job, with not a word of warning or a whisper of a plan.

Which was why Sheldon had decided it was high time he called his mother.

Padding back down to his bedroom, he took a seat on the edge of his Star Trek covers and reached for his phone, dialling his mother's number. After three rings—much to Sheldon's delight—she answered, and before he could stop himself a dopey grin spread across his face at the sound of her voice.

"Shelly, dear! To what do I owe this extraordinary pleasure?"

Leaning back into his pillows, he toyed with the corner of his robe sleeve. "Hi, Mom. I know I'm contacting you a few days outside of our prearranged phone call day, but there was an urgent matter I needed to discuss with you."

There was a slight rustle on the line, which Sheldon could only presume was his mother taking a seat in preparation for their conversation. "Oh?"

"Mom…" he started, and then frowned, pursing his lips. Surely she knew George was in town? Surely she knew that his presence would disrupt his entire existence here in California? Surely she should have contacted him by now? "Well, surely you know why I'm calling?"

His mother cleared her throat lightly. "Now, Shelly, the reason I hadn't already called was because I felt you and your brother needed to act like civilised adults and sort some things out on your own—"

"You knew he was here?" Sheldon interrupted tersely, unable to control the whine in his voice. "And I suppose you packed his bags for him too, then?"

He heard her growl at him in disapproval lightly. "I most certainly did not pack his bags, but I did encourage him to visit you and your little friends, yes—"

Pure frustration set alight in Sheldon's chest, and he huffed. "How could you do this to me?" he complained. "He turns up at my door, with no explanation as to why he's here, and coerces my friends into allowing him to stay in _my _apartment, and now—"

"Sheldon," she cut in, and he shrank lower into his bedding at the sound of his full name. "I encouraged George to visit you and your little friends because he needed a change; you know his reputation here is shaky, and a place like California is perfect for a man of his…tastes—"

He wouldn't have it. "I had everything perfectly aligned here in Pasadena: my job, my home, my friends, my girlfriend," he gritted his teeth and trailed off. Maybe things _weren't _so perfect with his girlfriend, and it was _his _fault he would have to fix them, pushing him exactly where he hadn't wanted to venture…

On the line, he heard his mother sigh heavily. "You need to put aside the differences you have with your brother—the Lord is asking you to forgive him, and him to forgive you—"

"The Lord isn't asking me to do anything, Mom, you are." He said bluntly, and she quietened. "I want him gone."

After a moment, she spoke again, softly. "George has the right, just as you do, to go and do as he pleases. He is well and truly a grown man, and whilst he may have his problems he's doing his darndest to fit in with you and your little posse."

Sheldon rolled his eyes—he had the wool pulled over her eyes too, just like everyone else. "How on earth can you fall for that, Mom, he—"

"Sheldon Lee Cooper," she scolded, her thick Texan accent lacing around his name, "you will make an effort to make your brother feel welcome—he is now a resident of your community and a blood relative, and I will not tolerate hostility between the two of you."

He sighed, resisting the urge to obey her orders with a swift 'yes, ma'am'. The relationship he held with George—though near non-existent in recent years—was complex, and his mother had never quite understood the dynamics between them. Now he was in Sheldon's territory; jeopardising everything he had worked so hard to achieve. "Mom," he said weakly, his words barely above a whisper. "He's trying to steal her."

She let out a long sigh, and he couldn't determine why. "Shelly, I'm sure George isn't trying to steal Amy away from you—"

"You know him, Mom! You know _exactly_ what he's trying to do!" Sheldon burst, his own fragile vulnerability making his stomach churn. "He can have _anyone_ he wants, women by the dozens, but he's trying to take what is mine!"

The words flew out of his mouth before they registered, and he groaned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He was ruining _everything._

"Is she yours, Sheldon?" she asked quietly on the line.

"Of course she is—she signed an agreement," he said firmly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and sitting upright. "We have a Relationship Agreement; she wants to be my girlfriend."

"Amy may have signed this fancy agreement you wrote up, but it looks an awful lot like you're not keeping up your end of the bargain," his mother said, and he could almost see her folding her arms over her chest in dispute. "You know I think you could make a young lady very happy, but you cannot expect Amy to see out this fandangle New Age relationship if you aren't willing to compromise."

Once again, Sheldon rolled his eyes at his mother. "Mom, Amy and I aren't in a 'New Age' relationship—"

"My point is," she said loudly, "you only get back what you put in, Sheldon, and if you do not make that effort then Amy may decide to look elsewhere for a suitable partner. I do not, however, believe that George is trying to 'steal' Amy from you—he has changed his ways and is trying to start a new life in California."

Clenching his jaw, he composed himself. Perhaps his mother was protective of George, perhaps she refused to see his faults, but he saw them, clear as day. He would have to defend what was his without her assistance. "Fine, what you choose to believe is not my concern."

"Likewise," she replied, and her response surprised him. "George is staying in California now, Shelly, and you're going to have to get used to it. If you're worried about your relationship with Amy try looking at yourself before looking at others—it'll do you a world of good."

He bit his tongue. "Nice talking to you, Mom."

"I'll be praying for you, Shelly."

Disconnecting the call, Sheldon stared at the receiver until his eyes watered. The presence of his moronic brother had a domino effect on every inch of his life, and with a rare streak of tension now tainting he and his mother's relationship he felt rattled and anxious.

_Amy; focus on Amy._

He slid his laptop across his bedspread and opened it, punching her email into the address field of a fresh message. It pained him to do it, but if apologising to her was what it would take to relieve their odd 'I don't know' status, he would try to set things right.

* * *

"Howard!" George said brightly, holding out his hand to the clean-shaven astronaut. "It's a pleasure, man!"

Grinning back at the Sheldon look-alike, Howard shook his hand with a chuckle. "Sheldon, is that you? Oh, wait, no—it's George; Sheldon's non-alien counterpart!"

George smirked, towering over the smaller man. "Very funny. So, how was space?"

Howard shrugged, leaning against the kitchen counter of the freshly painted apartment. "You know—vast, deep, dark—nothing short of incredible."

Across from them, Amy smiled, and continued to throw cutlery into a kitchen drawer as Bernadette passed it to her. "Happy your hubby is back on the right side of the ozone layer?"

Bernadette looked back at her, eyes wide and serious as she nodded. "Oh, yeah—he ain't going back up there for nothing."

In the doorway, Raj and Leonard were attempting to push a large mattress through the front door of the small loft. "No, no, Raj—we need to spin it ninety degrees and swing the back end before we try that—"

Behind Amy, Penny chuckled and abandoned her work on the crockery cupboard. "Guys," she said, striding over in her jeans and tight blue top, "let me help…"

Grasping the edge of the bare mattress, Penny heaved it through the doorway, where it fell on its side into the apartment with a thud. Howard and George glanced up from their conversation, and Penny grinned at her success. "Done!"

Shaking her head, Amy smiled again and leant her palms on the countertop, gazing around at the loft. She had to admit—it was tiny, and technically didn't have a bedroom; just a long, hardwood-lined open space with a kitchen and bathroom at one end. The apartment was brand new, with no blinds or drapes, and the huge windows let through blocks of late afternoon sunlight whilst showing off a striking view of the Glendale skyline. Despite its size, the apartment was impressive.

"So, George how was your first shift at the Bella Bar?" Amy asked, watching as the four men dragged the mattress into the centre of the room, right in front of the television. He turned to her and grinned, and she felt her heart jump. _Dammit…_

"Great, yeah," he said, and tossed a pillow to Leonard, who dumped it onto the bed. "It's been a while since I've bar tendered, but everyone was great; giving me plenty of pointers. Oh and Raj—you'll have to come down, I'll fix you a drink and a pretty lady?"

Throwing himself onto the mattress, Raj grinned and gave the taller man two thumbs up, and then placed his hands behind his head. Howard took a seat beside him, turning on the television and flicking through the channels. "Looking forward to paintball tomorrow, everyone?"

"We're going to kick your ass," Penny said playfully, pushing the tiny astronaut over and sitting next to him.

Howard rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, with what? Three girls and George?"

"Yep," Bernadette said, popping up once again beside Amy. "Once Penny and I train up Amy, you won't stand a chance."

Amy's phone vibrated on the bench and she frowned down at it. An email from Sheldon. Chewing her lip, she grabbed the phone and opened the message, feeling uneasy as she sensed George's gaze on her.

_Dear Amy,_

_I write you this email to express my sincere apology for the events that occurred last Saturday afternoon. It has been a week since we have properly spoken, and our last conversation left me feeling uncertain about the status of our relationship. Upon consulting with Penny, I discovered that 'I don't know' is not technically a socially accepted relationship status—also, Facebook does not support such a status, which reinforced my theory. On this occasion, I am willing to overlook this mishap; please feel free to recognise this forgiveness as a reflection on my character and tolerance on the matter. Returning to the crux of my email, I am sorry for my behaviour last weekend, and—if you will permit it—I would like to retry our date, handholding and cuddling included. _

_Should you wish to go on this date with me, please let me know and we will schedule a suitable time._

_Looking forward to hearing from you._

_Regards,_

_Sheldon_

Blinking down at the email, Amy felt a smile creep up on her. Sheldon's email was—in his own way—touching, and it had been a tough week. She had made a concerted effort to avoid him at all costs, and in doing so had hardly seen the entire group, including George. Ignoring her boyfriend was difficult, but she had hoped for an apology, or at least something close.

"You okay?" George asked quietly, and Amy was torn from her thoughts. She looked up at him and nodded, taken yet again by those blue eyes, full of concern.

"I'm fine," she said, giving him a half-smile. Raising a single disbelieving eyebrow at her, he reached across the stone counter and grazed her arm with the tip of his rough finger, and she pulled it away, heat rising to her cheeks.

"Alright," Penny announced, clambering up from her spot on the mattress. "As much fun as this mattress is, I think it's time to call it a night."

Leonard scooped up his keys from the floor and nodded. "Yeah, I'd better get home and check on Sheldon anyway."

Raj and Howard stood as well, and Bernadette slung her handbag over her shoulder. "Come on, Raj, we'll give you a lift."

"Thanks for coming," George said appreciatively, giving them a warm smile. "I really appreciated it—and hey, next pizza night is on me."

The group filed out of the tiny apartment, wishing George good luck for his first night. Yawning, Amy grabbed her handbag off the counter and began to follow her friends out for the short drive home to her own apartment before a large hand caught her wrist. "Amy?"

The warmth of his hand felt as though it were searing her skin, and she jumped, caught completely off-guard. Instantly, he dropped her hand, and gave her a small smirk. "Sorry," he said softly, and she struggled to tear her focus from his eyes—Sheldon's eyes. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh, yes," she said confidently, smiling. "Your apartment is great—certainly very suitable for you, on your own…"

George laughed, shaking his head lightly, and she felt that tingle at the base of her spine. "I've missed you this week; I hardly saw you at Sheldon and Leonard's."

Gripping the strap of her bag, she maintained her composure. "I've been busy at the lab this week," she said, and frowned as he walked past her into the kitchen.

"You want a drink?" he asked, reaching for a stack of crumpled plastic cups and a bottle of cola.

Narrowing her eyes, Amy shook her head. "No thanks, I should probably be going—"

"You don't have to go," he said softly, leaning his tanned forearms onto the bench casually. The 'V' of his t-shirt gaped open and she caught a glimpse of his chest—golden and taught and defined. _Oh God…_

His lips twitched lightly with a tiny smirk as he raised the beaten plastic cup to them, taking a sip. Placing it on the counter once again, he rounded the bench and stood in front of her, close. "I'm looking forward to paintball tomorrow, are you?"

How much taller was he than Sheldon? An inch? Two? "Um, I guess. I've never shot anything, let alone a ball of paint."

"There's nothing to it," he said casually, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Besides, we're on the same team—I'll be there to protect you."

_Protect me?_ "I'm sure I can fend for myself," she said playfully, giving him a smile.

Another half step, and he was even closer. She could smell his cologne, sweet and fruity yet masculine and mysterious. "I want to protect you, Amy," he said quietly, his voice deep and gravelly. "I've never wanted to protect something so badly in my life."

He had her eyes locked with his, intense, and she felt her body grow hot. What was he saying? "I don't need protecting," she said shakily, inching away from him ever so slightly.

His sapphire eyes darkened and he looked away, swallowing harshly. "We'll see," he said vaguely, and then smirked, leaning his weight against the counter once again. "Well, we're kinda neighbours now, so you're welcome here, any time."

"Thank you," Amy said quickly, and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Rushing out of his apartment, Amy let out a long breath, feeling light-headed. What was he doing? What was he doing to her? Clumsily, she groped for her phone from the bottom of her handbag and wrenched it out, opening up the email from Sheldon as she walked.

_Sheldon,_

_Apology accepted. How about tomorrow night?_

_Amy  
_

* * *

"Okay!" Penny said loudly, clipping the harness of Amy's shield tightly as she addressed her teammates. "I hope everyone is well rested and ready to fight—there is no way in hell Leonard and his army of nerds is going to win today!"

The team of four were gathered around in a small tin shed, clad in camouflage paintball gear and loaded up with heavy weaponry that was making Amy's arm hurt. Wriggling, she tugged at the shield digging into her ribs and took a seat on a large bail of hay as Bernadette, Penny and George plotted against the other team.

"So, I'll flank up the inside, and Bernadette, you can head around to the west—"

The attire was incredibly uncomfortable and exceptionally hot—in fact, the small, rusted tin shed was sweltering in the heat. After her intriguing evening with George the night prior, Amy was determined to stay out of his path, for today at least. Yet something struggled to stop her from casting her eye over his appealing form as he shrugged the green-toned jacket over his plain white t-shirt, moulded to his defined chest so perfectly…

"Ames!" Penny snapped, waving a hand in front of her face. "You listening? We need to teach you how to use this thing, it's almost time to head out!"

The blonde Nebraskan hauled her to her feet, and Amy smirked as she positioned herself behind her, helping her place the gun in the right spot. "This is the perfect opportunity to touch me, huh, bestie?"

George spun around in the corner, arms above his head as he toyed with his shield. He raised an eyebrow and smirked, and Amy grinned back at him. Alongside her, she heard Penny tut a small chuckle, and then wrenched her own hand up to the trigger. "It's easy—just stare down the barrel at where you want the shot to go and bam!"

Amy jumped as Penny squeezed the trigger once, and the shot hit a nearby hay bail squarely. Bernadette joined them, looking utterly swamped in the getup, and grinned. "Go Amy!"

"You try," Penny said enthusiastically, stepping away from her. Tugging the mask down over her eyes, Amy lugged the gun up to eye level, stared as Penny had told her, and squeezed the trigger with her index finger. A blob of bright blue paint hit the tin wall and George let out a whistle of approval.

"Nice work!" He said, grinning. "I think we're ready to go!"

Swinging her poker straight ponytail in Amy's direction, Penny gave her a thumbs up. "Just stick behind me, shoot anyone who's not one of us and you'll be fine."

"Alright," she said nervously, and sunlight poured through the shed door as George headed out.

"Let's go!"

Sticking close to her best friend's heel, Amy ran quickly across the grassy field, staying low and fast. The afternoon was bright and sunny, and the grounds were loud with zippy gunshots and shouting voices. Penny held up her gun and took a swift shot at an enemy in a cluster of trees nearby, missing by inches. "Come on!"

Darting along the tree line, Amy kept an eye out for Sheldon, although identifying players was proving to be difficult. Out of nowhere, she stumbled to the ground over a tree root, falling heavily onto her knee into a patch of mud. "Ow…" she said softly, dusting off her hands and rubbing her leg. This was _not_ her idea of fun.

Looking up, she realised that she had lost Penny, and was now a sitting duck in the middle of the playing field. Scrambling to her feet, she began to run toward the treed area, throwing her head over her shoulder to watch for enemies on her tail. A familiar figure was behind her, and she leapt for a man-made barricade—but she wasn't fast enough.

"Sorry Amy!" Leonard shouted, and she growled as she looked down at her chest—marked with a fluorescent green splatter of paint. Panting, she leant against tall wall of sandbags, tossing her gun onto the ground, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She was dead now, surely she could take off her mask and relax in the sun until this torture was over?

For a moment, she listened for more attackers, but the sound of shouting and gunshots was blending into the distance. Huffing, she tipped her head back and admired the day—sky painted with fluffy clouds and birds chirping in the trees close by. Standing straighter, she pulled the mask away from her face and threw it to the ground with her gun, smoothing her dishevelled ponytail and breathing in the fresh air. Now she could hide away—just sit back and relax until it was all over—

"Duck!"

There was a scuffle and a burst of noise, and the weight of a far larger body struck her own, thrusting her flat onto her back into the muddy ground. Arms splayed above her head, Amy spluttered for the air that had been knocked from her lungs and opened her eyes. The figure pinning her down did not move, instead he tugged the mask off roughly and gazed down at her with _those_ blue eyes. Within seconds, the air she had gasped for was gone again and her heart was leaping from her chest as she realised that every inch of George Cooper was lying on top of her, holding her arms securely above her head with his legs between her own.

"Christ Amy, are you insane? You can't take off your mask while a game is still going, it's dangerous and I—"

Unable to move, and begging her body not to betray her, Amy gaped at him, and he trailed off, blinking at her. She knew she was breathing so heavily, shaking beneath him. Gulping, she watched as his panting slowed, and he bit his lip, watching her just as closely. There was nowhere else she could look, nowhere she could go; all she could see was him, all she could feel was him.

He took a deep breath, but still didn't move. Instead, his expression seemed to change, and he boldly brought his lips down beside her ear. "I know you've never been this close to a man, ever," he whispered, and she shivered at his hot breath on her neck, whimpering slightly. Between her thighs, she felt him twitch, and gasped at the sensation. "I can give you this, Amy, and so much more."

Suddenly, a crack of twigs sounded and a shadow enveloped them, and he pulled his lips from her ear, body tense. The figure behind them held his gun to George's back, and he scowled.

"Get off her."

Never in the two years had Amy known him had Sheldon sounded so fierce; voice an octave lower, gravelly and harsh. "Now!"

George gave her a final, intense look and pushed away, kneeling between her legs. She let out a puff of air, shock rolling over her body. Still holding his gun to his brother's back, Sheldon jabbed him and George rose, face impassive. With one quick shot, George had a blotch of green paint on his front.

"Go," Sheldon growled at him, "go!"

George's eyes slid to Amy, who had pushed herself up and was standing, unsteadily. "I'm fine, George, please just go."

Glaring at his younger brother, George slunk away, and Amy watched as Sheldon turned to her, gun pointed. Heart thumping in her chest, she searched for his eyes behind the tinted mask, but could only see an outline. He took a step toward her, and she scooted backward, backing herself into the barricade. "Sheldon, I took my mask off when I shouldn't have—I didn't know, and George saved me from being injured—"

She yelped as he pressed the gun into the centre of her shield, right over the spatter of wet green paint. "Sheldon," she said weakly, shakily, "I've already been shot; I'm dead."

The sunlight hit the plastic of his mask, and she could see his eyes—burning straight into her own fiercely. What was he thinking? Was he angry? Did he believe her? "Sheldon…" she tried again, but trailed off as she watched his eyes move from her face to her chest, staring at the green on black.

* * *

He pressed the tip of the gun against the shield, right in the middle of the spidery green mark against her chest. His stomach turned, and his blood felt red hot in his veins, like it was ready to burst through the surface. _He _had been on top of her, between her legs, touching her, and she was _his._

The dip of her camouflage shirt caught his eye, buttoned to the base of her neck. There was no high-necked top beneath as there normally was—just pale, perfect skin. He trailed the tip of his gun upward until it touched her flesh, sitting in the hollow of her neck, rising and falling quickly. He heard her gasp in surprise, and he simply stared at her skin, unfamiliar and unknown. Slowly, tenderly, he pushed aside the fabric of her shirt with the tip, revealing more of her fair skin; undressing her without lifting a finger, without undoing a button.

The rush of blood pounding in his ears, he licked his lower lip instinctively, and looked back to her face. Her green eyes were wide and curious, and her lips were parted, drawing in quick breaths as her chest heaved.

Dropping the gun from her décolletage, he spun away from her, body aching and mind jumbled.

_What has she done to me?_


	7. Chapter 7

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum**

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _I know, I know…I'm a week behind with my posting, I apologise. This last couple of weeks has been crazy, and it's going to be like this for a while but I will do my very best to stick to a weekly update, I promise! Anyway, enjoy this chapter—I intend to have another up in a couple of days to make up for my slackness. Thank you all once again for the reviews, and remember that they're always appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Pursing his lips, he buried his nose deeper behind the rim of his tattered text book, slinking lower into the couch. His eyes begged for rest, burning as he blinked at the blurring words on each page under the dim light of the table lamp. The _irritating_ sound of glass scraping and spinning on hardwood flooring splintered his concentration, and he growled, glaring in their direction.

"Oh my God, Missy has to kiss Jimmy Garner!" The bug-eyed blonde whispered to her giggling friend, skinny legs crossed beneath her. His sister chewed her lip and peered at the teenage boy, who was all but chomping at the bit to throw himself on her like an animal in heat.

Huffing, he slapped the book down onto his lap and hollered over his shoulder to his brother. "George! Must I continue to sit through this relentless torture?"

Leaping over the couch, his brother plonked into the spot beside him, tossing kernels of popcorn over the clean floral couch. "Yes, you _must,_" he replied with a mouthful. "I'm in charge, I say what to do."

Casting his eyes around the out-dated living room and across the cohort of giggling teenagers, Sheldon scowled. "I find it interesting that whilst our parents placed _you_ in charge, I am the one who has been overseeing this unevolved bunch of riff raff—"

"Why don't you just join in, then?" One of the giggling schoolgirls said, auburn spirals tumbling down her back as she spun to face the two brothers.

The abhorrent sound of kissing made Sheldon's stomach turn, and he did everything in his power to keep his eyes averted from his sister and her oaf of a companion. Clenching his teeth, he looked back at the girl. "I have no interest in participating in such a ludicrous game, thank you."

Next to him, George chuckled and flicked through the channels on the television casually. "He's not worth your time, sweetheart."

Sheldon glowered at his dishevelled brother. "I also have no interest in getting into trouble when Mom and Dad find out you let Missy invite her classmates over—"

"And you won't get in trouble; Mom and Dad are not going to find out…"

A freckly faced girl with mousy hair reached for the empty glass bottle, tapping the neck with the tip of her orange-painted fingernail. The bottle spun rapidly, and the rowdy group quietened as it slowed to a stop, shiny red cap pointing directly at Sheldon's feet. A mixture of giggles and squeals erupted from the group, and the mousy haired teen tilted her round face up to gaze at Sheldon.

Rolling his eyes, he opened his book to a fresh page, shielding his view from the insolent adolescents. There was a rustle, and a chorus of whispers, and he yelped as he felt something grasping his knee cap. Tossing the book aside, he jerked his thigh away as he stared at the brown eyes of the freckly faced girl, kneeling between his legs. "What are you doing?!"

His shriek prompted a wave of laughter and taunts from the group, and the girl batted her eyelashes at him. "The bottle stopped on you—surely you know what that means?"

"Yeah, genius, you know what that means!"

Panicking, he could not tear his eyes from her lips, coated with some form of pink shimmer, and getting closer by the second. There was no doubt germs all over her, putting him at risk; putting his body at risk, his mind…

"Come on, Shelly, kiss her!"

"It's not like anyone at college is gonna do it!"

Fumbling in his spot, he clawed at the rough fabric as he tried to escape, but she had hold of the front of his _Aquaman_ t-shirt, bunched and creased in her dainty hands.

"Be gone!" He cried, but it was no use. She was inches from his own untouched face, and he felt faint—breath unstable and his forehead beaded with sweat.

"Get _off!"_

Roughly, he pushed her away, and she landed squarely on the floorboards with a thud. Scrambling from his spot, he snatched for his textbook and faced from the room, stumbling over the hall rug and gasping for air.

"_What a freak!"_

Rounding the corner, he slammed the bathroom door and groped for the soap, coating his hands and spreading the suds up his neck and over his cheeks. He had to get rid of it all; where she had breathed on him, where she had touched him…

Outside the door, the group cackled with laughter, and he felt bile rise in his throat. Squeezing his eyes closed, he tried to ignore it, but—as always—it just wasn't that simple.

"_What the fuck is wrong with him?"_

"_Is he gay?"_

"_He's such a weirdo…"_

Grimacing, he splashed cool water over his cheeks and let it roll down his neck, washing it all away. There was a gentle knock at the door, and he ground his teeth. "What?"

"Sheldon, I'm sorry, I shouldn't've—"

The soapy water burned his eyes, and he felt them begin to cry. "Go away, George."

* * *

_Did he just undress me with the tip of a gun?_

Stumbling back into the grotty, unstable pile of sand bags, Amy stared at his tall figure as it blended into the green expanse of the treed grounds, feeling as though the sky were falling down to greet her. Holding a hand to her chest, she let out a panicked, nervous breath and attempted to steady herself.

_His eyes, they were the deepest, darkest blue—so empty, yet so full…_

Swallowing, she drew the tips of her fingers to her now exposed décolletage, into the dip of her collar bone. It had been gentle, sensual, yet threatening and possessive. And _hot. _

_Holy hell was it hot._

Holding a shaky hand over her lips, she bit down a smile. Every inch of her body was pulsing; hypersensitive to the world around her. Swimming amongst her shock, she could feel the primal urge to race across the field for her boyfriend and spear tackle him to the ground until he confessed his intentions.

_It's pretty obvious what his intentions were._

Was it? This was _Sheldon_. Unromantic, uninterested, unknowing Sheldon. Yet as she stared absently at the shrubbery around her, all she could hear was her instincts screaming '_he's staking his claim, he marking his territory, he wants you!'_.

"_I can give you this, Amy, and so much more…"_

Smug smile fading, she groaned at the sound of George's velvety, hushed voice, whispering in her ear. The sensation of his breath tickling her neck made her stomach clench and spine prickle. And she had _felt _him—felt his body—

_Oh my God._

Heat rising to her cheeks, she ran a hair through her messy hair, plastered to her head with dirt and sweat. There was certainly _no _question about it now—George wanted her, in every way imaginable, and was offering himself to her.

And he was right—she'd never been that close to a man, and there was something utterly exhilarating about being pinned to the ground, and arousing such a reaction out of his body…

_Stop it._

Sighing, she pushed away from the barricade and reached for her mask, tugging it back over her head. Sheldon had agreed to a date night at her apartment that very evening, but after the events of the afternoon would he show up?

_Would _he fight for her?

* * *

Storming up the final cement flight of stairs to his brother's apartment, Sheldon felt his face grow hot and his chest swell, the anger pitting deep in his stomach. Not once in his existence had an emotion taken a hold of him so strongly, so swiftly, and no amount of Kolinahr or challenging physics equations or trains would quell the beast.

Slamming his palm against the front door, he shouted his brother's name in quick succession. "George!"

There was an audible groan from behind the heavy door. "Fuck off, Sheldon."

The expletive did little to ruffle him, and he stood his ground, arms folded across his swollen chest. After disappearing from the heated match of paintball, there was no way he would let George escape him this time. "George Cooper, you _will_ open this door or I'll—"

"You'll what?" George said flatly, wrenching the door open and mirroring Sheldon's stance.

Standing taller, Sheldon glared at him and pushed his way past into the messy apartment. "_You_ have absolutely no right to treat _my _girlfriend with such disrespect—I know _exactly _what you're up to—"

"Oh, and what's that? Making sure she doesn't get hurt? Protecting her?" George countered, slamming the door closed and following him.

Sheldon scoffed, exasperated by George's charade. "_Protecting her?_ The last thing _you_ would be doing is protecting her!"

"Well, I sure as hell am doing a better job than you are," George muttered, turning his back and reaching for a tumbler from the kitchen sink.

Crossing the room, Sheldon scowled as George grasped the neck of a bottle of bourbon, spilling the liquid into the glass. "You're no different than him."

Thrusting the bottle down with a clunk, George rounded the counter, stopping within a foot of his brother and stretching himself to his full height. "You know who I'm protecting her from, Sheldon? I'm protecting her from you, because ultimately _you're _the one who's going to hurt her, not me."

"_Me? _How on earth would I ever hurt Amy? I'm giving her everything—a brilliant mind, a well-structured Relationship Agreement—"

"Everything?" George interrupted, crossing his arms over her muscular chest. "What about _sex, _Sheldon? Are you giving her that?"

Even the word made his heart race, his jaw clench. "Amy and I are highly evolved creatures who do not require such animalistic activity to prove our affection for one another—"

George's lips curled into a smirk. "Well, Amy certainly didn't _feel _like a highly evolved creature when I was between her legs."

Hand flinching at his side, Sheldon pursed his lips and let out a huff of hot air, speaking through clenched teeth. _He's riling you; remain calm! _"You cannot just wander into my life and steal everything away from me—"

"I'm not stealing anything from you—you're pushing her away," George cut in tersely. "The bottom line is that you aren't giving Amy what she wants, what she _needs_, and she sees _me _as someone who can give that to her."

Storming past him, Sheldon snatched for the bottle of golden alcohol. "Give her what, this?" he waved the bottle in his brother's face, and slammed it back onto the counter. "This isn't Texas, George, you can't just pick up any woman you want and draw her back to your lair—especially not Amy."

George's cool demeanour bristled and he glowered back at him. "And this isn't Texas, Sheldon, and not everyone is willing to overlook your faults just because you're fucking special," he spat. "You can't handle the fact that Amy is a hot blooded woman who wants sex, and you're too selfish to look at what's best for her."

"What's _best _for her?" His words made Sheldon want to laugh. "That's big, coming from a man whose primary interest in life is to lure women in and use them for his own distasteful lifestyle. _I'm _selfish? I'm the one keeping Amy from a life of narrow-minded decisions and addictive habits—"

"That's your way of coping with _everything_, isn't it? Blow it off as unsanitary, unthinkable—something that will damage your precious mind," George's voice was low and he took a step toward him menacingly. Sheldon could feel him sizing him up, his eyes tracing his body. "You know what I think? I think this has _nothing _to do with me—seeing Amy with another man all over her, pleasing her, _wanting _her, unleashed something in you, and you can't deal with it—"

"Shut up!" Sheldon exploded, struggling to contain himself and deny the truths that his brother was speaking. "Will you just shut it?"

Nodding slowly, George leant against the counter. "That's exactly what this is. Now that I'm rocking the boat you can't control yourself; you can't control how you feel, or what you do—"

_How does he know this? _"You have absolutely no idea of my emotions on the subject, and—"

"What did you do?" George asked threateningly, narrowing his eyes.

Feeling his cheeks warm, Sheldon darted his gaze away, but George was too quick, and new him too well. "I know what you did. You were completely overrun by a surge of hormones after seeing your woman get turned on by another man, but you had no idea how to deal so you ran," George smirked, and shook his head. "And so you spent the whole afternoon trying to figure out why, after thirty-one years, you can't control yourself anymore."

Staring daggers at his brother, Sheldon could hear the blood pounding in his ears, rushing through his system to desperately aid his heart that was thumping in his chest. After fleeing Amy and her hypnotising neckline, he had raced across the field, thrown off his defiant gun and high-tailed it home on the first bus available, without uttering a word to his team mates. He had sat next to a frail, shrivelled old lady who smelt of mothballs and adjacent a schoolboy with a mucous-slimed jumper, but he didn't care. He didn't care that he wasn't wearing his bus pants, or that he had not removed his protective paintball mask. He had rushed up to his apartment, peeled away his camouflage attire, and dived under a hot shower, scrubbing at every inch of his body until his skin was raw. It hadn't been enough. Panicked, he had locked himself in his room in an attempt to decipher _why_ she made him feel the things he did; _why _he was filled with testosterone-fuelled greed and actions to boot.

And that meant George was right.

"Well, I'm glad I'm giving you the push you finally needed, but I'm telling you now that it won't be enough," George continued bluntly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his tracksuit pants. "Amy wants more than you'll ever be able to give her, no matter how much you change."

Swallowing, Sheldon lifted his head defiantly, pushing past words that made him feel sick to his stomach; words that he feared. "You're wrong," he said feebly, strength draining from him. "I am enough for her, and you most certainly are not."

George shrugged indifferently. "I may not be smart like you, Sheldon, but I know what works—and I learnt a long time ago to use what I've got to get through," he said. "I can read sides of Amy that you don't even know exist."

_No! You know her better than anyone. _Sheldon narrowed his eyes, unease sweeping over him. "You can't mould Amy into something she's not—and what she is is—" he paused, huffing with determination, "she is _mine."_

Smirking once again, George tipped his head in acknowledgement. "We'll see."

"That we will," Sheldon said viciously, racing for the door and slamming it behind him. "That we will."

* * *

Resting her chin up in her hand, Amy swung her legs back and forth as they dangled from the height of her barstool, tapping the tip of her toes against the counter rhythmically. Reaching for her wine glass, she took a long sip, and pressed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, squinting at her phone. Brightly lit in her dim kitchen, her text message to her boyfriend filled the screen, quizzing him on his attendance to their punctual seven o'clock date that evening. It was now well past seven, and there had been no sight of him yet.

Sighing, she allowed her elbow to slip along the bench top until her cheek lay on the cool stone. She knew it. His swift, sexy actions that afternoon had been nothing more than an aggravated 'goodbye', and he hadn't believed a word she'd said about her encounter with his devilish brother. He wasn't coming, and perhaps their relationship was now at an end.

Groaning in frustration, she spun the phone with the tip of her finger and jumped when it buzzed in return. Sitting upright, she snatched the phone up, expecting a message from Sheldon, but instead it was from George.

_I'm sorry if I overstepped the line today…but I know you want it, too._

Glaring at the screen, she punched in a response and downed the remainder of her drink. How could he do this, so bluntly?

_Apology not accepted._

Once again, she banged her toe against the counter, and winced at the pain that shot up her shin. Of course she wanted it. She was a fully grown woman with sexual cravings that would trump any near-thirty year old, and a virgin at that. Never had she been desired by a man, and never, ever had she been touched intimately.

"_I know you've never been this close to a man, ever…"_

"Dammit…" she mumbled, George's smooth tones whispering in her ear all over again. She wanted it, badly, and she wanted it with Sheldon…in all his tall, fair, handsome brilliance.

But she would be lying if she told herself that an animalistic, erotic side of her didn't want George, too.

The phone chimed again next to her. _I will make it up to you. Come over some time and I'll tell you more about Sheldon—no foul play, I swear._

And _why_ exactly did she want him? There was something alluring, tempting, about his air, and the way he made her feel—sensual, beautiful, _womanly. _It was pure, lust-driven desire—wasn't it?

A loud knock at the front door of her apartment made her jolt back to reality, and she felt her jaw drop at the sound of her name being uttered in quick succession by her boyfriend. Forgetting about the text messages, she leapt from her chair and launched herself at the door, swinging it open and beaming. "Sheldon!"

The sight of him nearly took her breath away, eyes once again dark and a resolute look on his perfect face. He didn't smile back, and she felt her own grin fade—had he come to end things? "Hi," she tried again softly; suddenly aware that her breath smelt of alcohol and her hair was a tangled mess.

Sheldon said nothing, and instead grasped her forearm firmly and dragged her into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Amy's heart began to race and her throat suddenly felt dry.

_Oh God…is this it? Has he snapped? Is he going to thrust me onto my purple-painted covers and have his beastly way with me?_

"Sheldon—" she protested airily, and gasped as he tugged her down onto the couch with him, almost winding up across his lap. His grip still firm on her arm, she squirmed, unfamiliar with such incredible proximity to him. She could hear him breathing heavily, and her cheeks flushed and she swallowed, desperate to regain some form of moisture to her mouth. The sides of their bodies were squished against one another, and Amy peeked up at him hastily.

In the evening light, she could see him staring down at her, eyes wide and lips pressed. Clearing his throat, he released his grasp on her arm and lifted his own around her shoulders awkwardly. "Come," he said croakily, and she blinked back at him, confused. "Do you want to involve yourself in this cuddling nonsense or not?"

Nodding her head quickly, she flicked off her flats and hesitantly curled under the crook of his arm, her body moulding to his chest perfectly. After a moment, his arm relaxed across her shoulders, warm against the back of her neck. She could hear his heart thumping beneath his stiff chest, and willed him to calm down—she wouldn't hurt him.

Reaching across, Sheldon switched off the side table lamp and plunged them into semi-darkness, until he turned on the television, reilluminating the space. Amy wriggled, trying to get comfortable, and glanced up, noticing Sheldon's throat move as he swallowed anxiously. "Sheldon, you don't have to—"

"Sh!" He interrupted harshly. "I'm trying to watch the movie."

Amy bobbed her head back down, nuzzling into his neck. Her entire body felt electrified; hypersensitive to every inch of his body that was touching her own. Gingerly, she moved her hand from the awkward position in her lap to the edge of his hipbone, splaying her fingers against the red fabric. He jumped slightly at the unexpected contact, and she bit down a smile—was he ticklish there?

"You've been drinking," he commented quietly, his voice gruff.

Eyes focused on the outline of his belt buckle beneath his t-shirt, she nodded softly. "A glass," she said, and took a deep breath through her nose. He _did _smell like baby powder—innocent and light.

They were silent for some time, and Amy did not take in a word of the movie on the television screen—her mind was well and truly elsewhere. She couldn't stop picturing his eyes, near black, as they scanned her chest, and the feeling of the plastic tip of his gun skimming her flesh. There had been _something_ behind those eyes, something strong and masculine and possessive, and she had liked it. Could she talk to him about it? Ask him of his intentions?

There was suddenly a feather-light pressure on the top of her head, and she could feel him adjusting his cheek against her hair. In the next moment, his opposing hand timidly crawled down the arm rest and across to her own hand, where it still lay against his hip. She heard him release a shaky breath, and hastily grasp her fingers in his, tingles prickling her skin at the touch. His long fingers were cool and perhaps a little clammy, and as she peered up at him once again she noticed him bite his lip nervously.

_Now or never. _"Sheldon?" she asked softly, and he startled, moving his cheek from her head.

"Yes?"

In an instant, all of the things she had planned to say were gone. "What happened today—I wanted to know—you know how you—"

Shuffling, he looked down at her quizzically. _Oh, come on, Sheldon—you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about._

She composed herself once again and took a deep breath. "Could you please inform me as to why you slid my shirt open with the tip of a paintball gun?"

Blue eyes darkening slightly, she saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. "I didn't—I have no idea—George—" he huffed, closing his eyes and reopening them. "I don't know what you're talking about."

_Denial! _Amy smirked, snuggling back into his neck, relishing the soft bare skin. She was going to fight him for it—his jumbled, spluttered response was evidence enough. "Alright," she said smugly.

_Maybe there's hope for you after all...  
_

* * *

_She is mine._

It had been well over an hour since he had stormed into her apartment, tugged her onto the couch and initiated a cuddle—and handhold—that felt as though it were lasting a lifetime.

Sheldon wasn't even sure what insufferable rubbish was on the television, only that he'd been too preoccupied with where to put his hands to care about what channel he selected. After forty-six minutes—he had checked—it seemed that his heart rate had finally begun to settle, and he had demanded that his body relax into the embrace. If plain old human contact wasn't already daunting enough, it seemed like her body was emitting some form of heat, pressing against him and making every inch of him feel on fire.

Letting out a slow breath, he gazed down at his fingers, curled around her own. She had so softly placed the tips onto his torso, right over his hip bone, and the sensation had sent a jolt straight down to his groin. Why did his body betray him under her ministrations?

Gentle music filled the dark living room and a list of credits began to roll across the television screen. Shifting, he tilted his head to look down at Amy, but her face was shielded by a waterfall of brown hair, only the tip of her glasses on show. She was _right there_; resting against his neck, warm and soft and _real._

_Who's closer to her now, huh, George?_

The thought made him sneer, and he drew her just a little closer, his hand tightening around her shoulder. He would not let him do this; he would not let him have her. After confronting George, he had decided there was no other alternative than to march over to her apartment and do what she wished, as willingly as possible.

_It's a step in the right direction._

Amy mumbled quietly, and he froze, waiting for her to move away. Instead, she nestled her face further into his neck, eyes closed peacefully, and pulled her hand from his, drawing it over his thigh to rest against the zipper of his pants. Holding his breath, he begged his body to ignore the contact—a difficult request when her soft touch elicited tingles that prickled across his crotch.

_She's asleep!_

Huffing, he stretched his neck slightly—which was growing stiff—and stared down at her more intently. Her glasses sat askew on the bridge of her nose, almost falling off, and he pulled them away from her face, placing them on the side table. Never in his entire relationship had he examined her so closely, without fear of ridicule. Her eyelashes were especially long, not covered with dark, goopy-looking make-up he had seen on their Nebraskan friend, and her lips were deep red against her fair skin.

Eyes travelling down, he smiled at her faintly-patterned blouse, covered in teeny blossoms in blue and green. It was buttoned all the way up to her sternum, he assumed, and tucked neatly into her brown skirt, bunched around her drawn-up knees.

Once again, Amy shuffled, murmuring lightly, and Sheldon tore his eyes away as the pretty fabric opened slightly, revealing more of her pale skin. Feeling his cheeks warm, he focused his gaze on the still-scrolling credits, attempting to read the fine print from the distance. Perhaps, on this rare occasion, he could steal a glance? She would never know…

Boldly, he peeked down at the gaping blouse and chewed his lip. The expanse of her light skin sloped away to meet a beige singlet, and her chest rose and fell gently with each breath. There was the slightest crease between her bust, where the mound of her breast met the other. Sheldon felt his heart rate elevate once again.

_You're staring at Amy's cleavage._

It was preposterous. A man of such intellect, of such brilliance, should not be holding a woman so closely, let alone sneaking a look at her cleavage. Yet something told him not to stop, and he felt the fabric beneath his crotch tighten. He had to stop, he just had to…

"_Just saying second base is right there…"_

Gasping, he heard her voice—clear as crystal—in his mind. Could he possibly touch her? Would he be violating her, taking advantage?

Gulping, he cautiously drew a hand to the edge of her blouse, tracing his finger along the coarse hem. Second base—he had Googled it, amongst other things, in his attempt to educate himself on what he should know. 'One achieves second base by touching or grabbing a woman's breast area', one site had told him, whilst another referred to the act as 'feeling up' the female companion.

Delicately, he trailed down the fabric, his fingers grazing the shape of her breast. He held his breath, erection now blatantly pressing against his pants, and gently squeezed the flesh, soft and supple. Shaking, he licked his lower lip and let out a breath, and continued to run his fingers over her. To his complete surprise, she pushed her ribcage forward into his hand, and let out the quietest moan he had ever heard.

_Oh boy…_

Quickly, she shuffled once more, and he jerked his hand away, eyes wide. His body screamed at him to continue to touch her, but he just didn't know how. This had to stop; he couldn't betray himself…

Could he?


	8. Chapter 8

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum**

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Yet again, I am slow. However—this one is especially long…I got a little excited. Now—a word of **warning**: this chapter contains a large amount of adult themes, and is especially sexual, so if you are uncomfortable with these kind of themes, I suggest you do not read on. Again, thanks for reading, and thank you for the kind reviews—they are always welcome.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

He banged his tiny fists against the yellowed plastic, twisting his neck against the restrictive bib around his throat. He was hungry, and _no one _would pay him any attention.

"Now George—you keep it up and I'll cancel your birth certificate," her raspy, warm voice rattled nearby.

He was so _high_ up; looking down on the members of her petite kitchen, alight with wishy-washy pastel blues and the golden sunlight. Bopping on the spot, he kicked his teeny feet, bare and sticky.

Pouting across from him, his fair-haired brother smeared the kiss she had planted on his cheek and stuck out his tongue in disgust. Her airy laugh filled the room, and she turned her back to them, ribbon tied neatly behind her back.

His brother clumsily scampered down from his place at the flower-covered dining table, sliding down onto the hardwood floor and stumbling over to the base of his high seat. "Meemaw," George whined loudly, tugging on his leg roughly. "Shelly _naughty_."

She looked back to them, her silvery hair shimmering in the daylight. "Oh, nonsense—Shelly's a good boy."

Forgetting his hunger, he leant over the edge to stare at his brother, who was glaring up at him. He didn't feel so good; it was such a long way _down _from up here…

Suddenly, the pulling on his chubby leg ceased, and George was at his eye-level, standing tall on her wooden chair beside him. He pulled a face, and Sheldon smiled, trilling happily at the top of his lungs at his big brother.

"Shelly _bad," _he said, and pushed the side of the plastic chair with all his might, overbalancing the tower and sending it toppling to the floor. Beside him, she screeched at his brother, but he ran away, laughing.

His head hurt, and he wailed, knowing he had fallen so far. He could hear the panic in her voice as she bundled him up in her arms, small against her lacy bosom. "Come here, Moonpie," she cooed, and he soaked her in real tears. "That George of ours is all jealous of you twins, but you ain't got nothing to worry about…"

Her puckered lips pressed against his head, and brushed his hair aside. "Meemaw'll take care of you…"

* * *

_She was vulnerable, exposed, defenceless under this light._

_It shone, bright and brilliant, into her eyes, blinding her and beating down onto her bare skin, hot and clammy. She squirmed against her metal chair, squinting toward the incredible light, and tugged at her hand to shield her face—but found it to be clamped to her chair, helpless. Hissing, the metal chewed at her wrists, jangling and clanging, and she took a last look to her interrogator, but he was nowhere to be seen. Panting, she began to sweat, her long tresses sticking to her naked skin, and shivered when a single, cool hand brushed her shoulder._

"_You can't see me," he purred, and the perfect blend of vocal chords hid his identity, inches from her ear._

_Unable to see, she closed her eyes and rolled her neck backward, ribs pointed to the ceiling and revealing her long, untouched neck. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out—every question, and every answer, evading her. This wasn't fair—she was beneath his spotlight, under his scrutinizing eye, and she could see nothing of him. _

"_What are you doing to me, Amy?" he asked, and she snapped her neck to the sound of him, the lingering scent of him. It was all mixed, all jumbled—how could she know?_

_The icy hand travelled from her jawline, down her neck, tracing the lumps and dips until a finger sat squarely in the hollow of her collarbone. Chest heaving with anticipation and nervous energy, she whimpered lightly, unable to resist. His fingers continued their torturous journey down her sternum, and crept across to her uncovered right breast. He paused, and she felt his breath at her ear, warming her jaw, tickling her neck._

"_You can't play games with me," he said firmly, his fingers lingering on her trembling flesh. "It's not fair."_

_Softly, but purposefully, he squeezed her, and she groaned—his large, roughened hands feeling delicious against her skin. A jolt of desire surged to the aching space between her thighs, and she pulled against her restraints, seeking him in what felt like vibrant, clear darkness. He continued to outline the shape of her breast with her fingertips, the palm grazing her nipple, and she arched her back toward his grasp._

"_You can't do this to us, Amy," he said hoarsely, and she snapped her eyes open, looking for the man she suspected would be beside her. Nothing but white light. _

_Suddenly, her assailant knelt beside her, cradling her head into the crook of her neck, hard and soft and sweet. She curled against him, and the room began to grow dark. "Choose."_

With a feather light gasp, Amy fluttered open her tired eyes, gritty and burning. She was against something soft, and as she came to she saw the outline of a pale, slender hand grazing the very tip of her bust tenderly. Yelping in surprise, she launched herself away from him and scooted to the far side of the couch, legs sprawled across the cushions and panting as she stared at him, shocked.

He stared back, blue eyes wide and body tense, gripping the armrest as though he were prepared to run as far away as he possibly could. Stiller than she had ever seen him, Sheldon's only movement was the rise and fall of his chest as he panicked, seemingly caught in the act.

_Sheldon Cooper was just touching your breast! _Her mind screamed at her, but shock glued her to her spot, and she pleaded for her brain to allow her to speak."Were you just…?"

At the sound of her raspy, hushed voice, Sheldon twitched, his jaw clenching. Subconsciously gripping the collar of her blouse, arm across her chest, Amy's eyes travelled down his tense body to his hips, and she felt her mouth go dry at the slight bulge beneath his purple slacks.

_Oh my God._

_Did he know what he was doing?_

_Is that what I think it is?_

_He wants you—jump him _now!

Releasing a taught breath, she relaxed her body slowly, feeling a wave of lust-filled heat travel over her. Her dream, the ache between her thighs…_he _had caused it. Flattening the line of her skirt over her knees, she bit her lip. One single movement could scare him away, and she knew to act tentatively, but every fibre of her being begged her to crawl onto his lap and roll her hips against him. "Sheldon…"

The lump in his neck slowly rose and fell as he swallowed, keeping his wide eyes trained on her. "It's what you wanted, isn't it?" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, croaky with nerves.

"I want you, Sheldon," she said huskily, carefully maintaining her voice at an equal volume to his. "You have no idea how good that felt."

She watched him purse his lips, tense and still, and then a puzzled look crossed his face. Tilting his head, he opened his mouth to speak, and just as quickly shut it again. "Really?" he squeaked finally.

Internally, Amy was rejoicing—he wasn't running. "Yes," she said, licking her lower lip instinctively, and she cautiously pushed herself up from the collection of pillows behind her, moving a little closer to him. He didn't move. "Your fingers touching me, feeling me…"

She continued to approach him, spinning her knees beneath her and crawling closer. The living room was so dark, but the white rims of his shocked eyes were like beacons. Breathing heavily, she carried on. "It makes me feel things, Sheldon, it makes me…" she chewed her lip, praying for the courage to keep going, "_hot…"_

His bug-eyed expression snapped to her, mouth agape. Finally, she was beside him, pressed against his shaking body, and her lips were at his ear. She held his gaze for a moment, and then leant in, brushing the tip of her nose along his neck. "It makes me want to do things to you…" she heard him gasp, and teeny goose-bumps rose to the surface of his skin as he clenched his fist at his side. Boldly, she reached for his tightened hand and drew it up her torso slowly. "It makes me want to do naughty, nasty things to you…"

Pushing her bust forward, she placed his now-slack palm over her breast, and laced her fingers between his, squeezing the flesh gently. He released an airy breath, jumping in shock, but didn't jerk his hand away. Relishing the feeling, Amy whimpered softly against his earlobe. "Sheldon…"

He turned his head slightly, and she locked eyes with him, her heart skipping a beat at the blackness that had taken over his blue gaze. She was so close, and the tension between their close faces was near electrifying. Timidly, she tipped her lips to his; grazing the soft, pink skin with a butterfly-light touch…

* * *

_Dear Lord…_

He had been caught red handed.

After a moment of hesitance, Sheldon had returned his hand to his girlfriend's chest, deciding that she was well and truly fast asleep and he could continue to take the risk. There was something so _appealing_ about the supple weight in his hand, and something so _intriguing _about the response he elicited from her resting body. Through the thin fabric of her brassiere, he felt a rough peak form, and he swallowed, resisting the indescribable urge to pinch it softly.

But his innocent exploration had ended suddenly, with Amy jumping away from him in fright, tossing herself to the far side of her tiny couch, slender legs splayed apart and her skirt askew. He felt himself freeze in shock; tensing every muscle in preparation to flee. Why had he done something so _stupid? _Why had he risked…well, everything?

"I want you, Sheldon," she was saying now, her tone low and hoarse. "You have no idea how good that felt."

_It felt _good_ for her? _"Really?"

He couldn't tear his eyes from her; hair tousled and green eyes vivid without her glasses to hide them. She was moving, very slowly, toward him. "Yes," she said. "Your fingers touching me, feeling me…"

_Get out of there! _His mind screamed, desperate to preserve what intelligence and rationality he still held. But he couldn't; he didn't want to…not yet. "It makes me feel things, Sheldon, it makes me…" she paused, and for a moment he thought she would stop this endless torture. "_Hot."_

_Oh my…_

She was against him now, her warm breath on his neck, and he felt something brush his neck, making him shiver. Why did this feel so good? "It makes me want to do things to you…"

_Do things to _me?

Before he could stop her, she had his hand in her own, and was bringing it up her pretty floral blouse, gliding over the buttons along her stomach. "It makes me want to do naughty, nasty things to you…"

_Good God…_

In one swift movement, she pressed her chest against his hand, and then closed his fingers around her breast sensually. The action made him jump in surprise, and he tried to calm himself, feeling his erection slowly tent his slacks all over again. Continuing to knead his fingers against her, she gasped his name quietly—in a voice he'd _never _heard come out of her before—and he felt himself struggling for control.

_Stop this, stop this now!_

But her words were magnetic; pulling his gaze to hers. Her lips glistened lightly, and her eyes were large and focused. She was _so close_, and he was trapped. Slowly, she drew her lips to his, and he felt the floor drop away from beneath him.

_Amy…_

She was so soft, so gentle, and her lips barely skimmed his, but the swell that pooled in his stomach spread to every tip of his body, and felt like it were singeing him from the inside. For the first time, he wanted to push back.

_No._

Before she could deepen their peck, he turned his face away, squeezing his eyes closed and feeling his chest grow tight. Barely an inch from him, Amy drew in a sharp breath. He couldn't do this. "I have to go," he whispered, and untangled himself from her, scrambling from the couch. "I'm sorry."

Without her pressed against him, he felt cold, and simply couldn't look back at her; couldn't bear to see the disappointment on her fair face. He slammed her apartment door behind him, tearing down the well-lit stairwell to the foyer and bursting through the heavy glass doors. Outside, it was beginning to spit with pesky rain, but he didn't care, he just raced for the bus stop.

_Oh no, oh no, oh no…_

Flopping onto the damp metal bench, he cradled his head in his hands and groaned in frustration. The rain was coming down harder, and he could feel it seeping through his t-shirt and soaking his skin. He wanted to rationalise his actions; tell himself it had been a foolish experiment and had not in any way poisoned his brilliant mind. He wanted it to _stop; _for everything to go back to how it was before.

_It can't and you know it._

How could he compete with George like this?

Sniffling, he wiped the droplets of water from the tip of his nose. He had touched her breast—_twice. _He had successfully—well, somewhat—achieved 'second base', and she had thrown herself at him like a cat in heat.

_She wants you, Cooper!_

She had kissed him, with a feather-light touch, provoking a desire from him that he had _never _felt before. And then he had fled, leaving her alone with no explanation for his haste actions. Would she understand? Would she forgive him?

_Of course she will. You groped her breast—if that's not progress, I don't know what is._

Shivering in the cool, wet night air, he let out a long breath. He was right; sliding into second base—albeit timidly—was sure to give her confidence in his ability to provide her with the carnal desire she craved.

_And besides—you make her _hot.

The husky, dulcet tones of her voice rippling through his mind sent tingles down his spine. He wasn't quite sure what that meant—but it sounded like positive feedback.

_Along with the fact that she wants to do naughty, nasty things to you._

The thought made him blush—he knew _exactly _what Amy meant by that, although couldn't begin to fathom what kind of repertoire she had in mind.

_Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, George._

He could feel his shoes beginning to fill with water, and stared down at the dark pavement, laced with cracks and crevices. Under the faint streetlight, he could see his reflection in the puddle below him, and he struggled to recognise the wild, wide-eyed man staring back at him.

He'd certainly have _plenty _to think about during his next session in the shower.

"'Scuse me, son," a gruff voice sounded from nearby, and Sheldon darted his eyes up to the portly bus driver staring down at him through the rusted doors of the bus. "You gettin' on board or not?"

Brushing the water from his slick hair, Sheldon stood and extracted his wallet from his pocket, and the bus driver peered down at his watch through his thick glasses. Climbing the stairs, Sheldon thrust the money into his hairy hand. "Yes," he said firmly, marching down the bus and taking a seat. "Yes I am."

* * *

It really, really wasn't Penny's night.

Hands planted on her slim hips, the blonde growled at her state-of-the-art microwave, which was now pouring out smoke and sizzling with sparks at the rear of the unit. After an evening of confusion regarding her shift at work—rendering her unable to earn money for the entire night—she had returned home to polish off the remainder of her macaroni and cheese, but—it appeared—tonight was not her microwave's night, either.

Coughing, she whipped a tea-towel from side-to-side, trying to rid the smoke, and grabbed at the bubbling bowl of her dinner from its innards. Gazing down at the food, she huffed as she realised that the cling wrap had melted into the cheese, and tossed the entire bowl into the trash in frustration.

With Leonard working a late shift at the lab, and Sheldon off on his make-up date with Amy, there was no one around to take a look at her fried microwave. She swept her hair back into a ponytail lightly, and rummaged through her refrigerator until she found a tub of yoghurt. "Eh, that'll do…"

There was a knock at the door, and she bobbed her head up from the fridge, frowning. Who on earth would be visiting this late? Amy was with Sheldon, Bernadette was with Howard…

Stumbling over a pile of laundry, Penny crossed the room to her apartment door, and peered into the peephole, and frowned at her visitor. Why the hell was he here? "Hey, George," she said sceptically, swinging the door open and standing deliberately in the doorway. "What can I do for you?"

_God he _is _like Sheldon, but so hot!_

George gave her a coy smirk, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans. "Hi, Penny," he said, and then sighed. "Look, I'm sure Amy has told you all about what happened today at paintball but—"

Crossing her arms over her chest, Penny narrowed her eyes at him. "She has, and if you're looking for her she's not here."

To her surprise, George shook his head and gave her a sheepish look. "Nah, I'm not looking for her—actually, I was looking for you."

Sheldon's brother or not, there was something about him that felt off, and she'd known _plenty _of men like him in her time. "George, I can't help you; you need to speak to Amy yourself," she said firmly, grasping for the door. "You're a nice guy and I respect that you're trying to set up a life here but you've gotta leave her alone."

George creased his brow and looked down at the floor, disheartened. "Penny," he said softly after a moment, and his face twisted; as though the words were difficult to find. "I really like her."

She stared at him and felt herself soften, his eyes dark and downcast in a way she had seen Sheldon's on a few, rare occasions. Leaning against the doorframe, she tilted her head. "Why?"

"Why?"

She shrugged, content with her question. "Yeah—why do you like her? I love Amy to pieces—she's my best friend—but I know guys like you aren't interested in girls like her."

It was his turn to narrow his eyes slightly, and he tilted his chin upward a little. "Guys like me?"

She arched a brow at him. "Yes, guys like you," she repeated. "You and Sheldon couldn't be further apart if you tried."

The comment seemed to ruffle him, and he crossed his arms over his grey shirt. "You'd be surprised," he murmured, and then smoothly moved on. "I like her because I've never met a woman like her in my life."

The words were vicious and strong, and stunned Penny in their apparent sincerity. For a moment, she blinked at him; broad, tall and tanned, with his light brown hair messily poking in every direction. If she thought Sheldon had come out a little whacky, this one was right alongside—a mystery she just couldn't solve. "It doesn't matter," she responded slowly, trying to be gentle. "Amy is Sheldon's, and Sheldon is your brother."

He took a deep breath, and nodded, somewhat curtly. "I think you know Sheldon pretty well," he said carefully, and she found herself leaning in to listen to him, "and I think you know Amy pretty well…do you really think he's going to be able to give her what she wants?"

_Not unless he pulls his finger out, no. _Penny ground her teeth, feeling frustration rise in her stomach. "I like to think I know your mother 'pretty well', too, and after all the shit I've put up with from Sheldon, I've got her on speed dial," she said threateningly, and glared at him. "Don't think I won't call her on you, too."

George laughed, tiny dimples forming on his unshaven cheeks. "That's no threat; my mother knows all of my flaws," he said, smiling at her. "I like you, Penny—you're fiery. But that isn't my type."

"Oh, and what is your type—virginous book worms who don't know any better?" She spat, struggling to remain civil.

His sapphire eyes darkened, and she noticed his jaw clench. "Think what you want," he said quietly, dropping his bare arms to his side and grasping his car keys. "But know this: _I _won't hurt anyone."

She watched him stalk away, bounding down the stairs, and snapped her jaw closed, which was dangling open. What the _hell _was that?

Slamming the door, she stomped back into the apartment and snatched her tub of yoghurt, throwing herself onto the couch. How could he just come marching up to her apartment, prying for information about her best friend's relationship?

There was another knock at her door, and Penny groaned, heaving herself out of her comfortable position. Wrenching open the door, she began to speak. "George, I told you—" She stopped dead in her tracks, when the figure on her doorstep was not George Cooper, but a beaming Amy Farrah Fowler, clutching a bottle of wine and a bag of Chinese food. "Ames?"

"You'll never believe it, bestie," she cooed, smiling from ear to ear as she shuffled past her, dumping the plastic bag and bottle onto the coffee table with a thud. "It's incredible!"

Penny turned to her, confused, and frowned. "Amy, aren't you supposed to be with Sheldon tonight…?"

Tossing herself back onto the couch, Amy sighed happily. "That's just it—Sheldon, he…" she bit down a smile, and Penny pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. "Penny, he made second base!"

For the second time that evening, Penny felt her jaw drop—this information was beyond incredible. "Like…on purpose?" she asked carefully, taking a seat beside the neurobiologist.

"Yes," Amy replied blissfully, laying out plastic containers full of colourful rice. "I wasn't even sure he was going to show up, and when he did he tore into the apartment like a man on a mission, pulled me down onto the couch and cuddled through an entire movie."

Penny's head felt dizzy; with her encounter with George in the hall to Sheldon acting like Romeo, it was too much. Amy floated into the kitchen, returning with two wine glasses, and looked down at Penny. "This isn't a bad time, is it?"

Giving her a tight-lipped smile, Penny shook her head. "Not at all."

"Oh, good," Amy said brightly, and filled the wine glasses to the brim. "So then, I fell asleep, and had an especially erotic dream about Sheldon…or at least I think it was Sheldon…and when I woke he was touching my breast!"

"No?" Penny said, struggling to process the information as she took a bite of her hot dinner. "Did he actually _grope _you?"

"Yes!" Amy squeaked, and shook her head, that same, dazed smile still painted across her face. "It felt _so good_, and I wanted so badly for him to just strip off my clothes and take me right on the couch—"

"Easy on the details there, sweetie," Penny said playfully, waving her fork in protest.

Amy skipped over the comment. "When he realised I knew what he'd been doing, he froze up, like a deer in the headlights, so I turned on my best charms and told him what I wanted," Amy said proudly, and then grinned wickedly. "I grabbed his hand and put it right back where it had been, and then I kissed him—although I don't know if you'd count it as a kiss…"

"Wow, go Amy!" Penny said with a chuckle, crossing on leg over the other. "Then what happened?"

For the first time since her arrival, Amy's face fell slightly. "Well, right before I could really deepen the kiss he ran," she bit her lip, staring at her dish with a furrowed brow. "He said he had to go, and that he was sorry."

_Oh, no. _Penny held her breath, uncertain of how Amy felt about this particular end to her story. "Sweetie, I'm sure he just—"

Amy held up a hand, silencing her. "No, no—it's okay. I have had time to review the situation and have decided that the result was positive—despite having fled the scene, he still committed the crime."

On a regular day, Penny would applaud her best friend for her upbeat attitude regarding her wavering boyfriend, but she was having difficulty in providing an optimistic remark. If Sheldon didn't continue to better his own moves, George would take his opportunity to swoop. Chewing her lip, she thought back to George's words: I _won't hurt anyone…_

"You seem somewhat underwhelmed by my marvellous story, bestie," Amy said, drawing her from her thoughts. "Is there something of importance that is distracting your pretty head?"

Penny smiled sweetly, and patted the brunette on the arm gently. "Nope, everything's fine," she said, and took a large gulp of her wine. "So, have you heard from George after everything that happened at paintball this afternoon?"

Placing her container—now empty—on the coffee table, Amy sighed. "I received an apology for his behaviour via text message prior to Sheldon's arrival this evening," she paused, and her eyes cast down. "He told me he would like to make up for it, and share a little of Sheldon's past with me when I next visit his apartment."

"You're not going to visit his apartment, are you?" Penny asked sceptically, scraping the remains of her fried rice onto her fork.

Amy cocked her head, frowning. "I suppose—George is a friend of mine, and he's like family, so…" she said, peering at Penny closer. "Do you have a problem with George?"

"I think," Penny began diplomatically, selecting her words sensibly, "that when a man tries to get into his brother's girlfriend's pants, and she's not sure what she feels for him, you need to be wary, and steer well clear."

_Okay, maybe not so diplomatic—but she needed to hear it. _

Leaning back into the couch, Amy looked at her, an unreadable expression on her face. "I know how I feel about George," Amy said unsteadily, but it was a blatant lie. "And he most certainly was not 'trying to get into my pants'."

The waitress scoffed, unable to control herself. "He openly told you he can give you what you want, and we all know what that is," she said harshly. "And with Sheldon about as sexually aware as a pre-schooler, George is looking like a hot option to you right now."

Amy huffed and adjusted her glasses, giving Penny a sour look. "On most occasions, Penny, I look to you for advice regarding my romantic qualms, but in this instance, I think you are well out of line and plan to disregard your suggestions."

_She doesn't want to see anything else. _Penny shook her had lightly, tired after her long day. "Disregard away, Ames, I'm just calling it like it is."

* * *

"So I told the guy—hey, glass half empty, glass half full; as an engineer, I look at it as the glass is twice the size it needs to be," Howard chuckled, shovelling another bite of his sandwich into his mouth as Raj nodded from across the table.

"You know," Raj said thoughtfully, cocking his head at his smaller friend, "I've always wondered about that saying—I like to think of it as: at least there's something in the glass in the first place."

Huffing, Howard shook his head disapprovingly. "You always just have to go and ruin everything, don't you?"

Sliding his tray of food onto the linoleum table, Leonard grinned. "How about: who cares how much is in the glass, who's buying the next round?"

Raj grinned, and raised his hands up in agreement. "See—now that's more like it!"

"I don't know," Howard whined, and looked over at their taller friend, who was absorbed in pushing a pea round his plate. "What do you think, Sheldon?"

"Hmm?" Sheldon replied, blinking until he was firmly back in reality. This cafeteria was noisier than normal, and the food was not up to scratch. "Oh…well, who drank the other half anyway?"

"Cynic," Leonard said with a laugh, and then frowned. "Sheldon—what's the matter?"

"Nothing," he responded instinctively, and cast his gaze around the room. _Do not make eye contact…_

"You were fifteen minutes late getting up this morning, barely said a word during breakfast and lost two rounds of I Spy on the way to work," his best friend said, and leant his arms on the table. "Something's wrong."

_Drat, he's caught me. _He hesitantly shifted his gaze back to Leonard, who had his eyebrows raised in impatient anticipation. "There was an incident last night," he said, and cleared his throat.

Raj groaned, and tossed his fork into his beef salad. "Oh, don't tell me you went off and challenged your brother to a duel," he sighed. "We keep telling you dude—stake your claim and you'll have nothing to worry about. He's not a bad guy."

Ignoring him, Leonard continued to probe for more information. "So, after paintball you went on your date with Amy…what happened?"

Sheldon opened his mouth nervously, and then pressed his lips shut. Could he tell them what he had done? "After having a somewhat _heated_ discussion with my dear older brother, I went over to Amy's apartment to prove my loyalty to her after the events of the day," he swallowed, and cast his eyes down at his dish. "Whilst we were…cuddling…on her couch, she fell asleep, and I took the opportunity to…"

His mouth went dry, and words escaped him. After a long, wet bus ride home, he had crashed in bed and slept for a solid ten hours, barely considering his risqué actions and analysing them further. He intended on reflecting on the specifics of the event during an elongated trip to the shower that evening, but had struggled to rid the thoughts of her from his mind all morning.

"You took the opportunity to…?" Leonard prompted, his head low and glasses on the tip of his nose.

"It appears that I—I managed to—" Sheldon scowled, closing his eyes and spitting out the words as quickly as he possibly could. "I made it to second base."

Next to him, Howard began to choke on his sandwich, and his face turned a light shade of purple. "What?" he spluttered, whacking himself on the chest forcefully.

Sheldon cast his gaze around the room, and glared at the engineer. "Do you mind? I'd rather that the entire university knew nothing of my dalliances."

Leonard gaped at him for a moment. "Does _she _know you felt her up during one of your innocent cuddling sessions?"

"Oh yes," Sheldon said, feeling heat rise to his cheeks at the memory. "Unfortunately, she does."

"Our Shelly is growing up!" Raj teased, giving him a pitiful smile.

"Okay," Leonard said evenly, the shock seeming to subside. He leant back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "So, what's the problem?"

"The _problem," _Sheldon said tersely through gritted teeth, "is that—whilst I do not intend on backing down from my recent advances—I fled, and am now at a loss to know how to proceed."

Howard, who had taken in two large bursts of his puffer and regained his breath, looked at him incredulously. "You _fled? _Like, you ran away from her?"

Sheldon recoiled slightly, frowning. "Well, yes—what else was I supposed to do, the vixen was practically straddling me in some form of wild mating lust—"

"You should surprise her," Raj said casually, scooping a spoonful of custard from his dessert bowl. "I told you—women love that."

Looking between the three friends, Leonard nodded. "I agree—you should surprise her."

"Surprise her?" Sheldon asked, unconvinced. "How on earth do you propose I surprise her—I don't even know if the woman wants to see me."

"Even better," Raj replied, and licked the spoon clean. "Take her some roses, or just turn up at her door—you could give her some of that physical loving you're becoming quite the expert on."

Clenching his jaw, Sheldon tensed. "It is my intention to avoid physical contact as best I can until I know she is able to…contain…herself." Momentarily, he imagined the velvety weight of her breast against the palm of his hand; the feel of her lips brushing his, and he shuddered. "Perhaps, Dr Koothrappali, you are right."

He pushed away from the table and checked his watch. Amy would most likely be home, and he was constantly pressured to take leave whenever he was able. "Leonard—please alert President Siebert to my absence for the remainder of the afternoon."

"Uh, Sheldon—are you sure that's such a good idea—?"

Without so much as a second glance at his half-eaten food, he marched out of the cafeteria and down the hall, gathering his belongings from his office and racing out to the bus bays. Before long, he was seated on a grimy bus on his way to see his unknowing girlfriend.

With no bus pants, he sat gingerly in a lone seat, watching with pursed lips as the scenery flew by his window. As he neared her apartment, he began to panic. What if she didn't want to see him? What if she told him to leave?

_Nonsense, Cooper. She wants you._

_Amy Farrah Fowler wants to engage in sexual intercourse with you._

The thought made him gasp for air, and an elderly gentleman with a slick comb-over peeked over his shoulder at him, shooting him a surly look. "Oh, what are you looking at?" he snapped, and leapt from his spot as the bus came to a grinding halt near Amy's apartment building.

Climbing the stairs, he felt his heart begin to race. His girlfriend wanted to have coitus—with _him. _She wanted him to touch her, to desire her, to move within her…and not just with any old thug—with _him. _Breathing steadily, he tried to imagine himself leaning over her, with nothing between them but haggard breaths and hushed tones.

_Better than some other brute defiling her…_

And he was better—better than _any_ other man she could ever have. The sheer thought of some hooligan pressed between her legs made his blood boil, and he trained his eyes on the stairs ahead, determined to avoid the overwhelming feelings he knew were teetering on the edge.

Finally, he stopped at her apartment door, and stared at the three golden numbers, fist raised to knock. His signature knock would surely give him away, and thus the surprise would be ruined. Hesitantly, he delved into his bag for a paperclip, and unfolded it carefully. As he had only once before—when that scoundrel Stuart had almost stolen his woman—he inserted the make-shift pick into the lock and felt the mechanism clunk. Grinning, he proudly reached for the doorknob, and ever so quietly let himself inside.

Immediately he regretted his decision. He was invading her space, her privacy, and the apartment was dark and quiet—perhaps she wasn't even there. On tiptoe, he crept past the couch, trailing his fingers over the tartan throw rug and craning his neck to look into the kitchen. Tilting his head, he noticed her handbag strewn across the counter, but she was nowhere in sight.

"This was a poor choice, Cooper," he mumbled to himself, and spun lightly on his heel to leave. She would never know he was here, and he could approach her in a more acceptable manner—like Skype, or via text message.

The muffled sound of a female voice caught his Vulcan hearing before he could continue for her door, and he turned to the sound. Cocking his head, he moved closer, and heard more indefinable noise coming from her bedroom. There was a dim slither of light lining her carpet, and he absently gravitated toward the doorway, where the door was slightly ajar, barely an eye-width. He held his breath tight in his chest, and drew his gaze along the speckled carpet, to the edge of her bed, and finally to the pile of fluffy, white covers that were piled high. Peering closer, he felt his breath hitch as a pale, slender foot came into view, tangled in a mess of sheets.

He bit the inside of his lip, hard, and attempted to look elsewhere, but it was no use. Her slim leg tensed and slid down the covers, revealing her narrow calf muscle that curved into the fair skin of her thigh. Her _bare_ thigh. Leaning against the doorframe, he bravely inched the door open a little more, and felt his jaw grow slack as he watched her body writhe, head tossed back and tendrils of brown hair splayed across her pillow. Her blouse was open part way, revealing the lacy edge of an emerald bra, and she was void of her regular skirt and tights—legs naked with nothing more than a pair of matching green panties. Very quietly, she let out a soft moan, one hand snaked down her torso to sit between her legs.

_Is she…?_

This was _wrong, _and his mind screamed at him look away, to run. But he didn't want to—the adrenaline of his exhilarating curiosity coursing through his veins was addictive, and instead he looked to her face, contorted in what looked like blissful torture. He was certain she could hear his heart throbbing in his chest, his laboured breath, only mere feet away, but he was frozen on the spot. She was captivating, and as she rolled her neck to the ceiling and arched her back in reprehensible pleasure he felt his arousal crawl up his spine and tingle at the apex of his thighs, begging him for release. As he stared at her squirming body, he couldn't help but wonder what she was fantasising about…_who _she was fantasising about…

Again, she whimpered, this time louder, and drew her other hand across her bust as he had done the night prior, down along her curvaceous stomach to meet the other. "Sheldon…" she whispered seductively, and he sucked in a breath.

_Oh God…_

Losing his own internal battle, he absently grazed his fingers across his crotch, feeling his erection twitch in response. He hissed quietly at the sensation; foreign and familiar all at once. He trailed his eyes over her again, and thought she looked natural, perfect, _beautiful. _The creamy skin of her naked thigh trembled, and she locked her knees together, gasping. Eyes wide and near panting, he gaped as she released a loud, guttural moan, and bucked her hips slightly, arching her back once more.

_Did she just…?_

He struggled to tear his eyes from her, and the anxiety in his chest welded him to the spot—instincts telling him to flee, and to take her, all at once. After a moment, she relaxed, and drew a shaky hand over her hair, flattening it, and snuggled into the covers. Sheldon felt giddy. This was too much, _she _was too much.

Hard, restless and unsatisfied, he spun on his heel, and slunk out of the apartment, racing home.

_Oh boy…_


	9. Chapter 9

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Yes, yes I know…this has been long coming—I'm some ridiculous amount of days behind in posting _but _I have some very awesome excuses for you all that I unfortunately cannot share as yet. Anyway—my apologies for the delay, I am currently in the lovely land of Bali having a holiday, and am right back on track to be posting once a week (if not more), so you should not have to wait again! Please enjoy, and be sure to review with your wonderful feedback.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

The solid steel weighed down heavily in his small hand, smooth and cool against his clammy palm. Unrelenting rays of sunlight bore down on his pale skin, and he could feel a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead into his eye, and he hissed at the burn from the salty moisture. The air was thick with southern heat, and the distinct scent of dry, cut grass lingered, with the occasional waft of smoke from his father's cigarette.

Squinting, he hiked the butt of the weapon higher up, settling it into the crook of his shoulder, and grunted as he lifted its full weight straight out in front of him. Beside him, there was a rustle in the grass, and his father leaned against the worn wooden fence, cigarette dangling from his lips. "Won't shoot nothin' without starin' down the barrel," he said, taking a final drag and grinding the fiery stub into the ground with his boot.

"Dad," he replied quietly, his arms burning, "there's nothing to shoot here—"

His father scoffed, crossing his arms over his grubby shirt. "Not if you're not lookin'," he said, and knelt beside him, roughly grasping the back of his neck and lowering his head to sit eye-level with the barrel. Gritting his teeth, he cringed at the contact of his grimy hand on his skin, no doubt leaving greasy, dark marks. "Stare down the barrel, boy."

Pursing his lips and letting out a huff, he squeezed one eye closed and looked out across the vacant field. It was near baron; lush, green grass withered to sparse, sandy-coloured wisps and an apple tree, fruitless and forgotten. A slight wind kicked up, and the long, dry grass parted to reveal a bobbing white chicken, clucking merrily in the daylight.

Jerking his neck up, he stared at the bird. "Dad, is that—"

The grip tightened on his neck, and he recoiled back to his position. His father's whiskey breath spoke quietly at his ear. "I know how much you hate old Mrs Riley's chicken, and your mother's whinin' about the Sunday roast, so…"

Swallowing, he blinked rapidly at the chook, jerking its head around inquisitively. The rounded tip of the gun was pointed at the bird's meaty, fluffy breast, and he suddenly felt sick. "I am not going to kill Mrs Riley's chicken—"

"You will kill whatever I tell you to kill," he said fiercely, and abruptly turned his attention to a presence to their left. "What is it?"

There was a crackle of twigs and his brother cleared his throat, a nervous habit he knew too well. "If Sheldon doesn't wanna learn to shoot maybe he'd be better off not knowing," he started, boyish voice on the cusp of manhood. "Besides, what's he ever gonna shoot anyway?"

He attempted to swivel his head to acknowledge his older sibling, but his father held his calloused hand in place tightly. "George is right—I'm not going to ever attempt to shoot anything of merit, this is a pointless waste of your time that would be better off spent—"

Suddenly the gun was raised higher, and his neck was aching. He could feel his hazel eyes burning a hole in him, watching his every move. "No son of mine ain't gonna be able to shoot," he said, and wrapped his thick finger around his own, lacing it against the trigger. "Shoot the damn bird."

Gulping, he stared at the chicken, and felt his arms grow weak and start to shake. In the sweltering heat, his clothes clung to his sticky, anxious body, and he knew his breaths were shallow. He didn't _want _to shoot the bird. He didn't _want _any of this.

"Shoot it," he snarled, and pushed his coarse finger against his own at the same time that he pulled the trigger. The heavy gun kicked back into his tiny shoulder, knocking him into his father's chest, and stealing the air from his own.

The screech of the bird echoed in his head, and he kept his eyes so tightly shut that he thought they may never reopen. Setting him back on his feet, his father slapped his back, hard, and stood up. "That should knock some sense into you, you smart-mouth," he said, and began to walk away. "You're a man now, Shelly."

Waiting for his heart to stop thumping, and his breath to even out, he gripped the neck of the gun and bit his lip, his throat burning. It didn't matter; the chicken was cruel to him. It didn't matter. _Don't look, don't look, don't look…_

A hand pried his own away from the gun slowly, lifting his fingers one by one until his grip had loosened, and removed the weight from his body. He heard the shotgun being tossed to the dirt, and the hand rested tentatively on his shoulder. "Don't look, Sheldon," his brother's voice said quietly, and steered him away from where he knew George could see red on green, red on yellow, red on _everything.  
_

* * *

_Okay. Think _logically _about this…think rationally, think calmly…_

His hands shook as he jumbled the keys, and he growled as he poked at the lock three times before successfully slotting the key into the hole. Swinging the door open, he raced into the apartment and threw his bag onto his desk. His breath was ragged, and he paced across the floor, one hand on his hip and one hand in his hair.

_What on earth did I just witness?_

"Oh God, oh God…" he muttered, snatching for his laptop and nearly ripping the power cable from the wall in his haste. Tearing down the hallway, he slammed his bedroom door and planted himself on his bed, wrenching open the screen.

"_Sheldon…"_

Her moans were bouncing about in his brilliant mind, preventing all other coherent thought from forming. He couldn't stop seeing her writhing, twisting body; the way she had tossed her head back, and opened her mouth in a perfect 'o' as she…

"Oh _God!_" he burst, feeling his body flush in sheer mortification and shameful arousal. She had looked _wild—_hair roped around her neck and splayed across her pillow, blouse part-way open and pale skin perfectly contrasted against the emerald green of her brassiere. That slender, delicate arm had snaked its way down her abdomen, her hand had snuck beneath her underwear, and she had…

_She had…_touched _herself…_

He was hyperventilating, and tried desperately to focus on the screen laying across his slowly rising lap. Closing his eyes firmly, he took a deep breath, and kicked off his shoes with the tips of his toes. He would need to be comfortable for what was to come.

"Okay," he said to himself, his voice high and shaky. "You can do this, Cooper."

Eyes still closed, he licked his lip and thought back to the incident. He thought back to how her calf had risen into the milky, round of her thigh, and the deep green that had laced around her hips. He thought back to her chest, arched to the sky, and the dip of her cleavage, hugged by gentle floral fabric. He thought back to her breathy, yet guttural, utterings of his name as she…

His eyes snapped open, and he huffed. "Oh, this is ridiculous."

Sex was pleasurable for a woman, he knew that. Living alongside the blonde waitress and hearing her screams of delight was enough to confirm his suspicions. But _this? _This was…

_Incredibly appealing?_

Sex was for _procreation_, not stamping about in the unfamiliar territories that were pleasure and animalistic desire—and even simple procreation was an unnecessary step toward propagating with the advances in reproductive technology. Engaging in coitus—in _sex_—with your girlfriend with no intentions of producing a child was sinful; it was selfish and performed for no other reason than plain old lust.

_Amy wants that with me._

Not only did she _want_ it, but she was also pondering over it for her own solo pleasure when he would not provide it to her willingly. The thought of her indulging in such an act had never even crossed his brilliant mind—surely he had received the wrong impression; surely there was a misunderstanding…

_Just because your mind is starting to corrupt does not mean you were wrong._

"True," he mumbled back to himself, and stared at his search engine open on the screen. _Do it…_

Determined, he tapped hesitantly at the small keyboard and braced himself for the results of his search. He chewed his lip, and timidly opened a link at the top of the page.

"Female masturbation," he began croakily, attempting his most impartial voice, and instantly felt cheeks warm. "Lord…"

Instead, he ran his eye along the short paragraph from the women's health article. _A solo session isn't just a quick fix to get a smile on your dial, _it read, _it's the secret to overcoming mental blocks, getting to know yourself and finding your way to that big 'o' we're all searching for._

Sheldon frowned. "Big 'o'?" he mulled over it for a moment, staring at the image of a brunette woman tossing her head back in perfectly feigned and photographed pleasure. He knew that in mathematics, the big 'o' notation was used to describe the limiting behavior of a function when the argument lent towards a particular value, usually in terms of simpler functions—but somehow, he felt that Amy wasn't searching for the answer to how fast a function grows or declines.

_Although it's not far off…_

Perhaps another search was in order. Bravely, he typed in a whole new search and hit the enter button, completely unprepared for the barrage of results he was to find. He gasped and almost tossed the laptop from his bed as the preview for an explicit video came into view, showing off a very naked young woman with her fingers unabashedly between her thighs. '_Amber Lee and her big 'o'—she reaches orgasm all by herself!'_

Averting his eyes from the fake-breasted woman, Sheldon blinked. "'O' for 'orgasm'," he gulped. "Right."

In the interest of complete and utter disclosure at this _intimate _moment, Sheldon had to admit to himself that this wasn't his first encounter with pornographic material. Only the perverted mind of Howard Wolowitz could have drawn the magnificent Sheldon Cooper to the deepest, darkest corners of the internet—and upon succeeding, Sheldon had instantly felt ill, closed the window and forbidden the engineer from stepping foot into his apartment for a total of one month.

But as he stared at the navy blue of his Star Trek comforter, Sheldon found his heart pounding with nerves and his eyes struggling to remain diverted. This Amber Lee was—apparently—_taking care_ of herself in a way that wasn't so different from the way his girlfriend had that very afternoon; would it be so abhorrent to learn what the fuss was about?

Clearing his throat, he casually looked back to the screen and opened the link. The video loaded immediately, accompanied by a loud kafuffle of grunts and explicit language from the cameraman. Scrunching his nose in disapproval, he muted the footage and leant across to close his blinds. _This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong…_

He held his breath and watched, intrigued, as the woman made odd faces at the camera and explored herself intimately. 'Wrong' wasn't the right word—it was…intrusive. Every inch of her figure was on display, and he knew his cheeks were on fire from embarrassment. The act looked _enjoyable _on her part; but this was a difficult assumption given the nature of the material. Swallowing, he waited for that dreaded tightness to greet his crotch once again, but it never came.

"Huh," he remarked, and pushed the laptop down his thighs to examine the area. Nothing. A part of him was relieved—perhaps these recent developments in his body were subsiding; perhaps he was not at risk of losing his genius after all.

_Or perhaps the orange-looking porn star doesn't interest you one bit._

This, he hated to admit, was the more likely scenario. Aside from the invasiveness, the other thing that was 'wrong' about this video was her. Her hair was a stringent bottle blonde, skin an odd terracotta colour, and she had a tattoo near her lady parts that looked like a fuzzy paw print. When he had observed Amy's racy self-exploration, she had looked natural and unguided—doing it for no one but herself. And this woman was…she was…

_Not Amy._

He slowly let out the breath he had been holding so tightly in his chest, and relaxed back into the pillows, eyes still reluctantly trained on the porn star and her gravity-defying bosom. Perhaps he could use the video as inspiration, for his own lackluster fantasies?

Within seconds, he was back at Amy's door, peering through the gap as she drew her knees up and moaned. She cried his name, and squeezed the soft flesh of her breast as he had through her green bra. Unwavering, he crossed the room to the end of her bed to watch her closely, to link her gaze with his. Eyes lowering and focus waning from the video on his screen, he pressed the palm of his hand to his groin, and felt it harden under his touch. In his mind, the video was gone, his bedroom was gone, and he was standing at the foot of her bed as she crawled toward him, curious and desperate.

She reached for his belt buckle, unlatching it slowly, and moved on to the first button, and then his fly. He felt every whisper of dignity and rationality slip away, and groaned as she slid her hand over the bulge in his pants. Hands busy, she knelt up to him and brushed her lips with his gently, just as she had done the night prior. "Sheldon…"

He pushed his slacks down over his hips, and gasped when her cool fingertips grazed the skin above his waistband of his briefs. Tentatively, he raised a finger to her fair shoulders, pushing aside her floral blouse and tracing the edge of the emerald green bra strap. She shivered, goose bumps forming on her neck, and smiled at him sweetly, before plunging her hand beneath his underwear, wrapping it around him and stroking gently. He gasped, and knew that—for this lone fantasy—he had lost himself.

Suddenly, a familiar chime rung out from his laptop, and he jumped, eyes snapping open to be greeted by a photo of Amy Farrah Fowler. Pursing his lips, he stared down at himself—pants tangled around his knees and hand in his underwear, gripping his erection tightly. "Good _Lord_," he exclaimed in shock, and snatched his hand away, wriggling back into his trousers. The Skype tone continued to ring, and he slapped at the keyboard to answer the video call, attempting to look calm and collected. "Amy!"

"Sheldon?" she said hesitantly, moving her head around and pushing her glasses up her nose. "It's very dark—I can hardly see you."

"Oh," he said vaguely, and leant over to reopen the blinds. "Better?"

She nodded, an uncertain smile on her lips. Sheldon swallowed sharply, realizing that she was wearing the exact blouse he had observed her in that very afternoon. "Much," she said, and then frowned. "Is everything alright? You look quite frazzled."

"I am well, thank you," he replied, giving her a tight smile and sitting upright. "To what do I owe this call?"

She looked somewhat perplexed, and settled back onto her couch. "Well," she began, "I called to discuss the events of last night with you, and I know that you rushed off and most likely do not wish to talk to me about what happened but—"

_Oh, last night! _The memory of his courageous triumph to second base felt like a distant memory after the momentous afternoon he had undergone, and he found her voice trailing off as he recalled his hasty departure.

"—so I understand why you felt the need to rush off, and I want you to understand that there is no need to cover up what happened with a flimsy excuse; it's only natural for you to want to explore your girlfriend's body and I am more than happy to provide you with the outlet you need, so please do not feel—"

She had—so, so lightly—kissed him, and he had fled. It had been his intention to make amends with her that very day, but upon arriving _everything _had changed—and instead he had taken the afternoon off to watch pornography and touch himself. Did he even _want _to admit defeat; admit that she had caught him, red handed, whilst groping her breast? Would she instantly desire more, expect more?

Could he handle more?

If not, would his brother give her what she so desperately wanted?

"Amy," he interrupted, and drew a hand over his hair. "Now is unfortunately not a good time—I will speak to you soon."

"Sheldon, wait—"

He snapped the laptop shut, and slid it across the covers, cradling his head in his hands. What could he do? That vixen was tempting him out of his safe, habitual shell, and risking the foundations he had laid his life on so carefully. Perhaps he did want to give in, or perhaps he wanted to continue to feign innocence until he was ready, but with George on the scene it was a race against the clock, and the pressure was on.

Gritting his teeth, he scowled. She couldn't push him like this; it wasn't fair. It was _her _fault he was feeling this way—her fault that feelings of admiration had turned to affection, and those affectionate feelings were slowly morphing into sexual desire. And then _George _had come along, pushing him even farther, stealing away his advantage of time and independence.

_And my girlfriend._

Not yet. Nothing had been stolen from him—yet. George may have had a way with women, a way with words and his body, but Amy wanted _him_—first and foremost.

_I hope._

Snatching for his phone, he scrolled through his contacts, and hit the 'call' button. As hard as they tried, his group of male friends struggled almost as much as he did, and he needed someone who knew the ropes, and knew Amy.

"What's shakin', bacon?" Penny's voice echoed on the line, a hint of laughter in her tone.

"Hello, Penny," he said calmly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I require your assistance on an urgent topic—are you at home?"

* * *

_Well, that was rude._

Amy stared at the disconnected video call, shocked at Sheldon's odd behaviour. He had looked bothered, his hair mussed and his cheeks rosy, and was not in his office but in his bedroom when he should have been at work. His prompt response to her call had thrown her immediately—she had not expected him to wish to speak with her at all given his display the evening prior.

Frowning, she closed the laptop and sighed, feeling disheartened. He was avoiding her, and regretted his actions, she was certain. Slowly, but very surely, she was growing fed up with the ongoing battle between her and Sheldon, and despite coming so far, she wondered if this leopard had any spots to change at all.

Beside her, her cell buzzed, and she scooped it up half-heartedly. _Amy, _the text message read, _I know you don't want to talk to me right now, but please come round for one drink so we can smooth things over._

"George," she muttered, pursing her lips. Should she venture over there? Could he be trusted?

_He's better company than your own boyfriend or bestie right now, that's one thing for sure._

What harm could it do? She was an independent adult, and could do as she pleased—after many years alone, she knew she could take care of herself.

Sighing, she leapt off her couch and reached for her keys, racing for the front door. It was a short walk to George's from her apartment, and she didn't intend on staying long. She slung her handbag over her shoulder and left the apartment building, heading down the sidewalk in the half-light of dusk. The wind was blowing a gale, swishing leaves across the busy streets and making Amy shiver.

She came to George's building, and took the elevator to his level, arriving seconds later at his door. Raising her fist, she knocked lightly, and tugged her jacket around her waist tighter.

A moment later, the door swung open and she felt her stomach do a tiny flip, mouth going dry. George stood in the doorway, very shirtless, with his head cocked at her in surprise. "Amy," he grinned, and she found herself smiling back. "You didn't reply to say you were coming—I wasn't expecting you. Come in."

Shuffling through the doorway, Amy instantly smelt take away food, and turned back to him. "I didn't mean to intrude," she began, and given his height wound up staring straight at his bare chest—pectoral muscles clear and defined, slipping down into a taught, lean abdomen. She cleared her throat. "I didn't realize you would be eating dinner."

George moved past her, touching her on the arm as he slipped by. "Nah," he said, and snatched up a slice of pizza from the box on the bench, catching it as it flopped slightly. Sinking his teeth into it, he offered her the box. "Want some?"

His boyish enthusiasm for pizza made her grin, and she shook her head, averting her eyes from his _certainly _not boyish body. "No, thanks."

He shrugged, and followed her eye, looking down at his torso. "Hmm," he started, and leant over to his messy makeshift bed for a shirt. "This doesn't really support the whole 'no foul play' thing, huh?"

Amy chewed her lip, smiling. "Not really, no."

He grinned, and lifted his arms casually as he slipped on a t-shirt. Outside of celebrities and models, Amy couldn't think of a time she had seen a masculine form that was so _perfect_—strong, muscular arms, and that tantalizing 'v' that pointed down between his hips. Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited until he had tugged the shirt down squarely, and looked back up as he rubbed a hand through his dusty hair. _Dammit, George…_

Grabbing the pizza box, he flopped down onto the mattress and patted the space beside him. "Please, sit," he said politely, and smirked. "I would offer you a chair but…"

Nodding, she gingerly took the spot beside him, and bit her lip as he shuffled back, laying out across the pillows and mess of clothing. "So," he said slowly, and drew an arm up behind his head. "Thank you, for starters, for coming. I'm sorry if I overstepped the line at paintball; I honestly acted out of instinct and the next minute you were under me and—"

"George," Amy interrupted, shifting in her spot awkwardly. "It's fine, truly—I understand."

Their gazes locked for a moment, and he stared at her intently. "I know you do," he said, his voice rich and his eyes giving little away. "Better than anyone."

Amy cleared her throat deliberately. She would have to keep the momentum of their visit going or things would grow tense. "So, now you need to keep up your end of the bargain," she started. "You said you would tell me more about Sheldon, so—as Penny would say—spill."

He stretched out across the bedding, his lips curled into an amused smile. "What do you want to know? I'm sure you know him just as well, if not better, than I do."

Shrugging her jacket off her shoulders, she crossed her ankles and leant back on her palms. "In the time I've known Sheldon I've been able to make many observations, and gather assumptions about his past from that," she said. "Along with what he's told me, I like to think I know him very well, but there are aspects of him I'd like to know better."

George shook his head, grinning. "Like…?"

"Tell me about your father," she said hesitantly, and instantly saw his eyes darken. Across the few years she'd known him, Sheldon had given enough away to suggest that his deceased father had been a source of difficulty during his years at home in Texas. "Sheldon hardly ever mentions him."

George swallowed, and tilted his head back to look at the high ceiling. "There's probably a reason for that," he said cryptically, and sighed lightly. "Our father was a drunk, Amy."

This was hardly a surprise to Amy, but she felt her heart sink at the bitterness in his voice. "I had assumed that," she said quietly, and watched him carefully. "Sheldon gave that much away."

He nodded, and slid his eyes across to look at her briefly. "Wasn't too smart either, and he hated that Sheldon was different—treated him as such," he paused, and Amy could see him contemplating how much to give away. "When he wasn't bullying him, he was pushing him to be something he wasn't, and the one-eyed redneck in him blinded him from seeing that Shelly wasn't just special—he was brilliant."

Amy remained very still beside him, swept away by the pride tinged in George's voice for his younger sibling. It was only then that she realized how _alone_ they were together; how quiet his cold apartment was. She looked over at him, and found him once again staring at the ceiling, gaze unfocused. Probing for more information felt too forward in this moment, and she kept quiet until he spoke again.

"He was a damn prick to our mother, and God knows she put up a fight in those later years," he smiled, but it was hollow and brittle. "But there's only so much fighting a family can take, and we all felt it in the end—Mom threw herself at the Church, Sheldon dedicated himself to his education, Missy ran off with some deadbeat and Dad threw himself at a blonde bartender nearly half his age."

"And you?" Amy found herself asking quietly, tilting her head down at him.

He drew his eyebrows together and looked at her, confused. "What about me?"

Amy hesitated. "How did you feel it, in the end?"

Turning his neck back to the concrete ceiling, his jaw clenched slightly, eyes hardening once more. "I did the only thing I knew how to; the only thing I was good at," he said, and quickly shifted onto his side to face her, arm propping up his head. That cheeky smirk was back, and Amy knew she wasn't getting any further information out him. "That gives you plenty to go on for the moment—now, I want to talk about what happened."

"That wasn't part of the deal," Amy said warily, looking down at him. Discussing what had happened between them was definitely something Amy had planned to avoid—but there was a part of her that was curious and wanted to know more.

"True," he said smoothly, and raised an eyebrow at her. "But I don't think I'm the only one who wants to talk about it."

_Crap, _she thought. "George…"

He ignored her, carrying on seamlessly. "As I said earlier—I am sorry if I overstepped a line, but you cannot deny that you felt that electricity," his bright eyes stared up at her through long, fair eyelashes, and she felt her stomach coil. "_Between _us."

Heart starting to race, she was speechless at his audacity. Once, twice, she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. "I know you feel it," he said, grinning. "And you know what I think?"

"What's that?" Amy said weakly, watching his fingers as they toyed with the sheet close to her thigh.

"I think you liked it," he said softly, wrapping the white fabric around his forefinger. "I think you liked the power it gave you, I think you liked knowing that you could get a reaction like that from a man. I think you want more, with me."

_No. No, no, no. _She groaned inwardly; how did he know this. _Yes. _"Even if you're right, it doesn't matter," she replied, trying her utmost to remain unaffected by his unshaven jawline and his deep voice.

He shrugged, and smirked. "It matters alright," he said. "I may not have known you very long, Amy, but I feel like I know you better than most—and Sheldon's never going to give you the sort of things you desire in a relationship."

_The sort of things I desire? _Amy could feel her cheeks warming. Sure, she was open-minded and her unsatisfied, inexperienced sexual appetite craved things many women wouldn't, but she could live without it—couldn't she? "Are you saying you could give me those things," she began bravely, her voice wavering, "if you had your way?"

George grinned wickedly, and her stomach clenched. "If I had my way there would be no rock unturned," he said, and the arousing nature of their conversation was hard to deny any longer. "And if I had my way you would not be sitting on my bed fully clothed."

Feeling her jaw drop open, Amy blinked at him. "George, you can't do this," she began, and felt a rush of words creeping up on her. "I can't—we can't—the very fact that a man such as yourself is even remotely interested in me is baffling, but this blatant flirtation can't continue—"

Sitting up, George put his finger to her lips, and she jumped. "Let me get some things straight," he started, leveling with her. "I am not 'doing' anything; I can say what I like—how you choose to respond is your decision. I'm simply pointing out what's obviously there."

"Hold on, you—"

"And," he said firmly, widening his eyes, "you need to stop short changing yourself, and me. I have known a lot of women, been with a lot of women, but you are the first who truly fits my tastes."

_He did the only thing he knew to do; the only thing he was good at…_

"You're beautiful, Amy," he said gently, and his deep voice was raw and genuine. "And sexy and unique and I am fucking certain that under those layers there's a body that deserves to be doted on, not covered up in cardigans and lab coats and tights. A body that wants me as much as I want it."

She could feel her willpower waning at his words, and noticed he had shuffled closer, his large frame towering beside her. This was not fair—he couldn't do this—but she didn't want it to stop.

"If I had my way, I would protect you, and tell you every day that you deserve it," he whispered, lips close to her ear, tickling her hair. "I would show you things that no other man could, and I know that you would accept me completely."

His final sentence threw her, and she looked to his face, his dark eyes ribboned with blue. _Accept him? _

"_There is a house in New Orleans, they call the rising sun, and it's been the ruin of many a poor boy, and God, I know I'm one."_

Amy jumped away, heart thumping in her ribcage, as George reached for his phone. "Hey, Stefano," he said casually, climbing up from the mattress. "Yeah I can work the late shift, no problem…"

Struggling to regain her composure, Amy clambered up and slung her handbag over her shoulder. George had the cell phone tucked between his cheek and his shoulder, and was fumbling about the kitchen to find something. "Nah, I don't know anything about where Sam swapping shifts—"

Amy pointed to the door, indicating that she was leaving, and George rolled his eyes at his caller. "My boss," he mouthed, and she simply nodded back, racing for the exit.

_I have to get out of here…_

A firm hand grasped her wrist right before she could tear out the door, and she looked straight up at George, nearly a full foot taller than her. Briefly, she wondered if he could feel her racing pulse in her wrist; whether he could read her heartbeat as well as he could read everything else. Phone still glued to his ear, he sighed and pressed his lips in a fine line, and decidedly planted a kiss on her forehead, before letting her go.

Within what felt like mere seconds, Amy was nearly half way home, walking the dim streets hurriedly, absently. _What just happened?_

At her door, she shoved the key into the lock and swore when she realized she had left it unlocked. Flinging it open, she tossed her handbag and jacket into the darkness and leant against the wall, hands cradled to her head. "Dammit, Fowler!" she groaned, and slid to the ground in defeat.

"There you are!"

A familiar, albeit odd, voice boomed from her couch, and Amy shrieked, her intruder giving her a huge fright. Holding her hand to her chest, she peered over and saw Sheldon's lanky frame rise from the couch. "Oh my God, Sheldon—you can't just—"

"Amy Farrah Fowler," he slurred, towering above her with his hands on his hips. "You and I need to have a little chat."


	10. Chapter 10

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Okay, on to some double digits! This one was (I know, again, don't hate me) longer coming—it was a tougher one to write and I wanted to get it right. Things are gonna start getting messy from here on in! Also, for those who are in-the-know—yes, there is a little reference (a little bit of homage) to this week's upcoming episode, because I am super excited! Anyway, reviews are always welcome and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

_What happens, _he wondered, _if I crack you open right now?_

He stared down at the smooth, white egg—dotted with teeny pigmented imperfections that only a true parent would see and overlook. The fragile structure fitted perfectly in his enormous, seventeen-year-old sized palm, and he cradled it for fear of it tumbling to the classroom floor.

_Would you smash and seep gooey, yellow coloured insides?_

The local high school—in its infinite, Church-led wisdom—had decided to educate their students on the perils of parenting by providing partners with a single egg to nurture for two weeks. In order to pass, one had to return the egg, unscathed, to the teacher after the allocated time, and provide a full report on the experience—a job that he had taken on single-handedly.

_Would you hatch and become a fluffy, adorable chick that I would have to call my own?_

Mrs Oswald had provided the class with 'suitable' partners for the project, and he had been teamed up with the gorgeous Clara Beldon—who swished her golden hair, fluttered her eyelashes and told him that she'd toss the egg off a building just to spend five minutes alone with him in his pickup. Truth be told, they'd spent far more than five minutes in his rusted truck, and the egg was still in perfect condition.

_Would you smash into a million pieces to reveal a bloody, underdeveloped mess that, despite looking perfectly normal on the outside, was an unloved disaster within?_

His mother had quickly gotten wind of the experiment and insisted his genius brother utilise his time away from college to participate as an honourary high school student alongside them. Begrudgingly, he had collected an egg from the school, crafted a state-of-the-art housing system that included a specialised heat lamp to ensure the egg's optimum comfort and evolutionary potential, and consequently scrambled it three days later.

"That's what happens when you're overprotective of your young," their mother told him, whilst dunking a rubber-gloved hand into the grimy kitchen sink. "You've gotta let them be—can't shield them from everything."

Sheldon had gazed up at her blankly from his oatmeal, a ghost of displeasure on his stark features. "Mom, as much as I find the parallel between your hazardous parenting philosophies and the blatant lack of care for my psychological well-being riveting, I was most definitely not overprotecting my egg—I was improving the experiment." He looked to George smugly. "Superior offspring for a superior kind."

So, with a sincere lack of effort on Clara's part, George had protected and cared for his egg for the full fourteen days without a mishap—beating Sheldon at an academic assignment for the first time in his life. For the first time, it wasn't brawn and a smile and a helping hand that would win him the respect and pride of those around him—it was the thick, red 'A' that his teacher had slid beneath his nose with a smile.

In the stuffy classroom, he tilted his head up to find Clara, meeting her eye as she smiled suggestively at him. He felt his jaw clench as she bit her lip, raising an eyebrow, and suddenly the egg felt as though it weighed ten pounds in his hand. She was angelic, clear, ideal—and now had her first taste of his world. There was no turning back.

_Would I crumble you in the palm of my hand, only to find that you're an empty shell, with nothing inside?  
_

* * *

_**Three Hours Earlier**_

"So," Penny said diplomatically, folding her arms over her chest. "What's the deal, Dr Cooper? You look like you saw a ghost."

Sheldon swallowed, tentatively taking a seat at one of the waitress' bar stools. For a moment, he stared at her blankly, wondering what kind of fathomable reason had led him to seek her assistance in the first place. He felt numb; the events of the day clouding his mind and making his stomach gurgle.

"Sheldon?" The blonde pried, waving a hand in front of his face. He blinked at her, and she frowned, turning for her liquor cabinet. "I'm having a drink—and by the looks of it, you need one too."

"No, thank you," he managed with a croak, shuffling to a more comfortable position on his seat. Staring at the speckled linoleum counter, he felt his brow grow clammy, and gripped his slacks in his palms. "Perhaps not quite yet."

The comment seemed to surprise Penny, and she raised an eyebrow at him as she poured burgundy liquid into a wine glass. "That bad, huh?"

Remaining focused was proving a difficult task, and Sheldon slumped his shoulders, defeated. "Penny, these past couple of days…I have not been myself—"

She waved her hand dismissively, taking a sip of her wine. "Oh, yeah—Amy told me about the all-mighty grope," she grinned at him, raising her glass higher. "Way to go, Shelly!"

Sheldon felt his cheeks redden. "That's not even half of it," he said quietly, feeling squeamish. _Try blatant voyeurism, pornographic exploration and fantasies that should be reserved for fifteen-year-old boys…_

Suddenly there was a tall glass slid beneath his nose, complete with a straw and an umbrella. "Did you steal these from The Cheesecake Factory?" he asked.

She shrugged indifferently, and leant her elbows on the bench casually. "I've been working many a night at the bar—as you can see," she pointed at her name tag, still pinned to her bust from her evening shift. "I think they can spare me a few free umbrellas for a friend in need."

"What is this?" Sheldon sniffed the drink, wrinkling his nose. The golden liquid smelt sweet, and looking irresistibly refreshing.

Sliding it closer to him, Penny looked at him vaguely. "It's exactly what we need to get you loosened up and sharing your troubles."

He took a slow sip, and was pleasantly surprised. The warmth spread from his tummy to the points of his ears, making him fuzzy inside. Memories of the day came filtering back to him with new life, and before he knew it his face was hot and rosy all over again. Across from him, Penny stared at his beacon-like appearance with apprehension, and Sheldon briefly wondered whether his blush had carved his sins across his cheeks in irrefutable red.

"Alright," she said finally. "Either you tell me what happened or I'll have to extract it from you. What did you do?"

He chewed his lip before speaking again, sheepishly. "It's not so much what I did—more what I _saw…_"

Penny frowned. "Well, what did you see?"

"I…" he tried, and instead brought the straw to his lips, sculling the mixture until it slurped at the ice noisily. This was it; if he wanted Penny's assistance, now was the time to come clean. "After hastily leaving Amy's last night due to our _unexpected _contact, I sought the assistance of my dear friends at work today, who convinced me that a suitable way to make up for my speedy departure would be to pay Amy a surprise visit…"

He paused, peering up guiltily at the blonde, who was staring back uneasily. "So, you went to her apartment…?"

"I went to her apartment," he continued, wringing his hands in his lap, "and let myself in—a novice mistake from the beginning. When I first entered, I thought that she wasn't home, and went to leave, but the next thing I knew I could hear her voice coming from her bedroom—I'd never heard anything like it—and then I was at her bedroom door and she—"

At the recollection of the undeniably erotic state of his girlfriend the night prior, he felt his mouth go bone dry. The words wouldn't form, despite his research and his practice. Penny's face has drained of colour, and she stared at him wide-eyed. "She wasn't with George, was she?" she whispered.

_George? _Sheldon blinked at her. "Why on earth would she be with George?"

"You said—" Penny looked flustered, stumbling over her words. "You saw her in bed, and I thought—"

_She thought George was in bed with Amy? _"Oh," Sheldon said, realisation of Penny's true meaning hitting him. A tiny part in the very back of his mind had stowed away and feared that very scenario, and to hear it voiced by another made his stomach churn. "Of course not."

When he looked up, Penny was staring straight at him, biting her lip in concern. "Sweetie, it's okay to be worried—"

"Why would you think that?" he interrupted bluntly, folding his arms over his chest. If Penny thought such on betrayal on Amy's part was able, who else did? Was the interaction between his girlfriend and his brother so obvious, even to an outsider?

Penny's mouth popped open and shut like a goldfish. "Sheldon, I'm not going to lie to you—George is very, _very_ interested in Amy, but I think you knew that already," she paused. "I'm sure you don't wanna have to deal with this, but sooner or later—"

"Under regular circumstances, intercourse takes two people's consent," Sheldon said sharply, and Penny looked taken aback. "Why would you think _Amy _would be in bed with my brother?"

Sighing, Penny rounded the island bench and took a seat on the barstool beside him. "Okay," she said calmly. "For a while now, I've been kinda worried that Amy has a certain…attraction…to George."

Sheldon flinched. "That's preposterous," he said, but it came out as a tight, knotted whisper.

"Sheldon—this isn't your fault; George is very charming, and he looks a hell of a lot like you. Amy's confused, and she's drawn to George by things that you don't have, or won't give her," Penny said softly.

He knew this, he knew it all, deep inside—but it didn't stop his chest from aching. "Sex," he replied. _Always a competition…_

Penny took a breath, leaning her chin on her palm. "It's not just sex; it's adoration and intimacy. You know your brother—he's a smooth talker, and I think he makes her feel beautiful and wanted."

_There's that word again. _Feeling anger rise, hot and scathing, in his throat, he scowled. "What interest does he have in her?" he spat. "I've seen the women he has courted—Amy is nothing like them."

This question seemed to stump Penny as much as it was stumping him. "I honestly don't know," she said quietly, and paused. "I confronted him about that, and he wouldn't give me a straight answer. There's a chance he really could like her."

Sheldon narrowed his eyes. George didn't run that deep, he knew that, too.

"Or," Penny stressed, meeting his eye. "There could be _something _that he wants from her, something that is still available."

"What?" Sheldon said, confused. _Still available?_

Penny huffed, and snatched at the bottle of golden liquid, pouring it into Sheldon's glass. She slid it across to him. "You know—something that's still _intact._"

Looking from the waitress to his now-full glass, Sheldon took a large sip through the straw apprehensively. "I have no idea what you're referring to."

"Oh, God, haven't you and Amy spoken about this before?" she said, exasperated. "Okay, put it this way—to someone like George, Amy is in _mint condition._"

He stared at her for a moment, mulling it over. Mint condition meant that something was brand new; in its original, untouched state—

"She's a virgin, Sheldon." Penny said frankly, at the same moment that it all clunked over in his mind. "Surely you knew that already?"

He wasn't truly listening to her. That sleazy, conniving piece of work wanted his girlfriend's _virginity? _The thought made his blood race through his veins, and he clenched a fist at his side. How _dare _he? Amy was more than that; more than just a piece of meat, and that was _his _to take.

The thought stopped him cold. _Mine to take?_

"Sheldon?" Penny was calling gently, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Of course I knew that already," he snapped, glaring at her. "You were there—on our first date, Amy told me about her sexual encounters; none of which involved anyone but herself." _And you know how much she likes solo encounters now, don't you?_

"Oh, right," Penny nodded. "Look, I could be wrong—he's so hard to read, and maybe he is just genuinely interested in her…"

A wave of exhaustion swamped Sheldon, and he rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. "I don't know what to do, Penny," he said, his voice cracking. "All I want to do is stay in the same spot, but everything around me is spinning…I feel like I'm being caught up; like I'm losing myself."

He heard Penny suck in a breath, and she laid a hand on his knee comfortingly. "Don't think of it like that; you're still the Sheldon we all know and love," she said softly. "Just think of it like you're evolving—changing to meet your complex surroundings."

Inwardly, Sheldon rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on Penny—you and I both know that's not—"

"Sheldon," she warned, a stern look on her face. "I'm trying to speak your language here, cut me some slack."

He huffed, and downed the remainder of his second drink—which was almost full. Speaking of spinning, it seemed Penny's apartment wouldn't keep still…

"Now," Penny said, pouring yet another glass for both herself and Sheldon, "I think what you need to do is forget about George, and focus on bringing Amy closer to what she wants. So, what was it you _saw _this afternoon that you were so eager to tell me about?"

Everything was _really _fuzzy now, and his drink tasted just wonderful. "Oh, that," he said dismissively, chewing on his straw. "I went to Amy's apartment to surprise her but when I got there she was in her bed masturbating."

Penny choked on her drink, face turning crimson. _"What?"_

"Oh, don't worry," Sheldon said comfortingly, smacking her on the back as she spluttered. "It's perfectly natural—women do it all the time; I did my research this afternoon."

"You saw her—oh my God," she tried, attempting to calm her cough. "Did she know you were there?"

Sheldon shook his head adamantly. "No, no…I watched her for a while and then high-tailed it out of there."

His usually bubbly friend was speechless, staring at him with her mouth agape. "You _watched _her?"

"We've been over this before, Penny," he said impatiently, taking yet another sip. "The hero _always _peeks."

Penny raked her nails through her hair and squeezed her eyes closed. "God, _Amy_," she hissed, and shook her head, attention returning to Sheldon. "Well…what did you think of what you…saw?"

He shrugged, twirling the umbrella between his fingers. Penny was making him feel so at ease; it was wonderful. "I liked it—a lot."

"Right," Penny said squeakily, pressing her lips together in an odd smile. "So, what did you do when you went home—actually, don't answer that; I don't wanna know."

Sighing, he rested his chin in palm. Amy had looked so _pretty_ in that emerald green, so alluring—a true vixen if there ever was one. If only he wasn't scared and hesitant; if only he knew what he wanted, too.

"Did you want to—" Penny cleared her throat, "—_join _her, when she was…you know…?"

Sheldon snapped his eyes to hers. "No!" She raised her eyebrows at him disbelievingly, and he caved instantly. "Maybe just a little…"

"Sheldon Cooper!" She gasped, beaming from ear to ear. The smile was contagious, and he snorted with laughter as she spoke again. "Well, there's nothing stopping you."

Scrunching his nose, he dismissed her comment quickly. "I'm not going to poison my mind any further by participating in the act—I've already made some concessions on Amy's part, and that was hard for me—"

"Sheldon, theoretical sex just isn't going to cut it—"

He grinned with pride, cutting her off. "Hey, you've learnt something—"

"—if you really want Amy to shut George out for good, you need to get…experimental." She finished, ignoring his comment completely.

_George. _He felt that little black cloud float over him again and clenched his jaw. Perhaps Penny was right; the only way to make Amy forget about his charismatic brother was to get busy. But how could he do that when he'd just, so recently, begun to explore this side of himself?

The drunken, scallywag of a devil on his shoulder wriggled his eyebrows. _Do it!_

"You're Dr Sheldon Cooper!" Penny said emphatically, poking him in the chest. "This is just another thing you're going to excel at—and there's no way the Sheldon I know would let his woman be stolen away by a mere simpleton!"

Her words fed the caged beast in his chest, and he leapt from the stool. "You're right!" Despite the butterflies fluttering in his stomach, and the fuzziness in his head, he took a deep breath. "Take me to her, woman!"

Penny nodded, scrambling for her car keys, and swayed as she reached the apartment door. "Maybe you should walk…"

* * *

"Amy Farrah Fowler," his voice was worn and gravelly; his words strung together clumsily. "You and I need to have a little chat."

Heart still thumping in her chest, Amy gazed up at him anxiously. "Sheldon—are you drunk? And how did you get into my apartment?"

His eyes hadn't left her, and she began to feel self-conscious as he towered over her. She felt small, with her knees drawn into her chest and her back to the wall. "Drunk?" he said, and waved his hand at her dismissively. "Penny gave me a special drink to help me relax. And I picked your lock."

This was too much—first George, and now this? "You can't just go picking people's locks, even if they are your girlfriend," she began to haul herself up from the floor, but was promptly pushed back down again, falling hard onto her tailbone. "Ow, Sheldon!"

He remained stoic, arms folded over his chest as he stared down at her. "Don't move—I like this…control," he slurred freely. "Looming over you…"

_What? _There was an intensity in his eyes that made her heart race, and she drew her sprawled knees together to suppress the sudden wave of warmth she was experiencing at the apex of her thighs. "What are you doing here, Sheldon?" she asked, her voice small.

"I'll ask the questions," he said sharply, and she held her breath. In the darkness, she noticed he was missing shoes and his t-shirt, exposing the two-tone undershirt that fit to his lean body snugly.

Amy bit her lip, marveling at the surprising amount of definition across his arms and chest. "Where is your t-shirt?"

He huffed, and she shrunk back slightly. "I _said," _he reiterated firmly, "I will ask the questions."

This was an authoritative side of Sheldon she had never seen before, and it sent chills down her spine. Cautiously, she drew her eye over his body, across his tight maroon slacks to the stubble on his chin. She felt vulnerable, shadowed beneath him, and struggled to utter a word—how was he rendering her so speechless?

"I have been waiting here in your apartment for almost two hours—where have you been?" he asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at her.

She could feel heat rising up her neck and onto her cheeks. In his state, telling him that she'd gone to visit his brother for the evening wouldn't go down well, she was certain. "Out."

"'Out?'" he repeated, cocking his head. "You most certainly should not be 'out' meandering about the streets at this hour, Dr Fowler."

"I'm sorry, Sheldon—"

His sapphire eyes darkened, and she stopped short. "If I knew what was good for you, I'd take you over my knee right now," he murmured huskily, fixating his gaze on her own.

Amy felt her jaw drop open and her breath catch in her chest. _Is he—does he want to—_

"But I won't do that," he said, and set his jaw tightly. "We have far more important things to discuss."

Gulping, Amy kept her eyes locked with his, trying desperately to forget that his thighs were barely a foot from her. "Like what?" she whispered.

Sheldon's chest rose with a large breath. "Like how I make you _hot,_" he said, lingering over the word. "The things you want to do to me…"

_Oh God. _He wanted to discuss that _now? _After all of the deliberate, continuous avoidance of the subject he _now_ wanted to talk about it?"Why did you touch my breast, Sheldon?" she asked finally, her voice quiet.

He shuffled slightly, and licked his lower lip. "I was curious," he replied, and his glassy gaze dropped just slightly. "I wanted to know how they felt, how _you_ felt…and your blouse was open so I…"

Amy swallowed, her heart wracking her ribcage. "What did you think?"

There was a moment of silence, and she feared that even her erratic breath was deafening in the dim room. Sheldon's eyes swept over her; knees pulled to her chest with her clothing askew. He was looking at her—_really _looking at her. "My turn," he said. "If I wanted to make you _hot_ right now, what would I have to do?"

"What you're doing right now is working," she said instantly, and blushed. The alcohol raging through his system had turned his hormones upside down, and she was struggling to resist the urge to tug him onto the ground with her.

He grinned at her, wide and cheeky. "Really?" he snuck a socked foot between her shoes and slid them apart, and in turn parted her knees. "You're changing me, Amy, and I don't know if I like it."

She was shaking, she knew she was, as he knelt between her legs and rested his warm palms on her wobbly knees. There was nothing more than a little space, short breaths and the smell of alcohol between them, and she could feel the heat radiating off his body. "I like it…" she said timidly.

Without even a trace of hesitance, he looped a loose strand of her hair around his index finger, scrutinising it closely before looking back to her. His breath was shallow, eyes clouded and deep. "Maybe I do too," he whispered, and smirked—a lop-sided grin that reminded her so much of his own brother.

"Listen, Sheldon…" she started, prepared to tell him where she had been, but he playfully pressed a finger to her lips, hushing her. Instinctually, she flattened herself to the wall behind her as he inched closer, until his mouth was at her ear.

"I saw you yesterday, silly." His tone was coy and cheeky, almost inaudible, but she knew what he had said.

_Saw me?_

As though he had read her mind, he continued, his thighs flush against her own. "Moaning with your back arched, twisting in your sheets as you thought about _me…"_

Amy's blood turned icy in her veins. He had been there when she had—he'd seen—

_No…_

He had seen her engaging in an act so personal, so _intimate_, and she had never known he was there. He had seen her body in so little clothing, in such rapture, and she hadn't had the slightest clue. The room spun slightly as she grew giddy. "You were in my apartment when—Sheldon, you have no right to just—"

"Don't tell anyone, but I liked it," he said softly, and she felt the hairs on her neck stand on end as his breath tickled her skin.

_He liked it?_

_It's the alcohol talking—this isn't Sheldon…_

_But Sheldon can't lie._

"You did?" she said, her dignity floating away in a tide of curiosity.

"Mm hmm," he confirmed, trailing the tips of his fingers over her bare knee in a circular motion. "I went home and thought about it…thought about you…"

Amy gasped as his hand tightened around her slender knee, swiping the pad of his thumb over her soft skin. Even if she wanted to—and she most certainly did not—there was nowhere for her to go; he had her pinned against the wall, wet and wanting. "What do you want, Sheldon?" she managed finally.

He pulled away from her neck and looked at her squarely. Those brilliant blue eyes looked like large, black pools, swimming with uncertainty. "I think I want to kiss you," he whispered airily, shifting his gaze to her lips.

"Maybe you should, then," she whispered back, and the words hung between them for a moment, before he pressed his lips to hers.

It was rough and fierce and perfect, and stole every gasp of air from her lungs. It set her on fire, but she was frozen, mesmerised by his intensity.

She had imagined that the first kiss he would give her would be light and airy and hesitant, and this was far from it. It was as though he had taken every morsel of her pent up frustration and desire and rolled it against her—as though his desperation was as severe as her own.

Instinct taking over, she pressed back, falling into him. His lips seemed to fit perfectly against hers, soft and new and warm, as they moved along hers, and she shivered as his free hand tangled itself in her hair. His rough stubble grazed her chin as he leant in closer, whimpering against her, and she drew in a sharp breath as she felt him push something _hard_ between her thighs.

_Oh my God._

He broke away at the sound of her gasp, leaning his forehead against hers and panting. Amy gulped, watching his hooded eyes study her lips. Should she stop him, or should she let him go on? "Sheldon…"

Detangling his hand from her hair, he slipped off her glasses and let them clutter to the floor. Barely a moment passed before he kissed her again, crashing against her with even more ferocity than their first. She relented to him completely, grasping his neck and raking her nails across his skin as he pulled her closer, boldly skimming her lower lip with his tongue, seeking her permission. For the first time, she tasted him—and he tasted of marshmallows and alcohol and strawberries and everything in the world that was bitter sweet.

"Amy," he hissed between breaths, releasing her and recapturing her again, over and over. The hand that was splayed on her knee crept its way down the descent of her thigh, gathering the fabric of her skirt. His touch left a trail of fire in its wake, and she moaned as he squeezed her thigh firmly, tossing her head back. Lips against her neck, his hand skimmed its way along the curve of her waist to her breast, where it lingered, and he ground his hips against her all over again. "Dear _Lord…"_

Out of control, she pushed him away, and he toppled backward, catching himself on his elbows. He was sprawled across her living room floor with an erection that stretched his pants impossibly, his hair mussed and an unreadable expression on his face. Breathing heavy, he blinked at her. "I—"

"Ames, you forgot your jacket so I thought I'd drop it in on my way to work and…"

Before she could process it, George's velvety Texan accent was in her apartment, and before she could even take a breath, he was standing in the doorway, her purple windbreaker over his arm. She stared up at him, speechless, as he scanned her disheveled body with a narrowed eye and tossed her jacket onto the couch. His jaw twitched as he examined his younger brother, pushed away from her and scowling.

In an instant, George had Sheldon dragged to his feet by the back of his shirt. "What the hell did you do?"

Sheldon swatted him away, stumbling, but his eyes still hadn't left Amy's. _"Him?" _he spat. "You were with _him?"_

George would have none of it. "Did you hurt her?" he growled, but Sheldon continued to ignore him.

"You just failed to mention that you had been at my brother's this evening?" he barreled on, snatching up her thrown aside jacket. "Taking off your clothes in his apartment?"

Amy was still on the floor, at a near loss for words. She felt sick. "Sheldon, calm down—yes, I was at George's, but nothing happened—"

Sheldon approached her, but George clasped his shoulder and spun him. "_Did you hurt her?" _

"No!" he snarled, fists clenched at his side. "How can you even show your face here—"

"How can _I? _How can you!" George boomed over him, shaking his head. "You reek of booze, you've scared Amy half to death—"

Sheldon scowled at him. "I have not scared her, I'm giving her what she wants before you can get in there and ruin everything—I know what you want from her, you pig—"

_Giving me what _I _want?_

Without taking his eye off Sheldon, and without losing his cool, George offered out a hand to Amy, and she took it gratefully, hauling herself off the floor on shaky legs. Sheldon was doing this—the drinking, the touching, the kissing—to give her what _she_ wanted?

"You have no idea what I 'want' from Amy," George said, his voice low. "But I know exactly what she wants from me—and it's nothing that you are ever going to be able to give—"

"I am better than you!" Sheldon roared, pointing at him accusingly. "I have _always _been better than you, and this is no exception—"

The elder brother straightened, towering above Sheldon. "No, Sheldon—you're no better than me. In fact, we're not that different at all," he folded his arms over his chest. "Things get even a little tough and you turn to something that will help you lose yourself—"

"That's baloney and you know it—"

"_Stop."_

Head throbbing, Amy's tiny voice hushed the bickering, and the two brothers glared at one another. "Out," she said weakly.

Sheldon glared at her. "I cannot believe you lied to me, Amy—"

"Get out!" she burst, voice breaking. "Both of you—out."

"Fine," George said, and held her gaze for a moment before turning for the door. "I'm not far if you need me."

"You heard the woman—_out!" _Sheldon snapped, slinging his bag over his body. He glowered at her as he wrenched the door shut behind him. "I hope you got what you wanted from him."

In the next moment, her apartment was cold and dark and silent all over again. She stared at the slammed door, feeling a sob rise to her throat as she shook like a leaf.

_Sheldon needed this push; you've done nothing wrong…_

It was true—igniting a jealous flame in her unmoving boyfriend had been the push he needed, but had it gone too far? Were the moves Sheldon was making driven by a pre-existing territorial dispute between two brothers, rather than pure, heartfelt desire?

Could she hold out much longer?


	11. Chapter 11

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _I know, I'm terrible-shoot me. It's been intensely busy here at the moment, and now that Christmas is over I should be back on track. Finally, a break to do some writing! Anyway, hope you all enjoy this latest instalment, the next couple of chapters will be pretty full-on. Don't forget to review, and enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Behind closed eyes, he could hear everything.

The creak of his brother's windowpane as he clambered through from another wild evening running about the streets of their unsuspecting town. The giggle in his sister's voice as she gossiped to her friends about the high school's cutest couple or the summer's hottest trend. The clunk of cool beer bottles being snatched from the fridge door as his father downed his sixth drink for the evening. The whisper of his mother's hushed prayer as she tucked herself into her lonely, empty bed.

The hum of his mind mulling it all over. And over. And over.

Behind closed eyes, he could see everything.

The family sitting around their worn wooden dining table as they ate in silence. The lace of his mother's apron swishing as she served their meals with precision. The slump of his sister's shoulders as she poked the peas around her plate. The jitter in his brother's body as he waited eagerly to flee into the night. The scowl on his father's unshaven face as he drifted further and further away.

The colour seeping from the image, slowly and torturously.

Behind closed eyes, he could sense everything.

The condemning look his sister gave her waistline in her favourite skirt. The disarming smile his brother shared to get his way. The brush of his mother's hand as she pushed her husband's hand from her hip. The diversion of his father's eyes as his gaze swept a winking local bartender.

The way he didn't care one bit.

Behind closed eyes, he could be safe.

* * *

_I hope you got what you wanted from him._

The words bounced in his mind as he stumbled past his brother in the hallway, shouldering him into the wall as he dove for the staircase. His throat burned like he had thrown back a shot of straight whiskey, but he knew it wasn't the alcohol. It was uncontrollable emotion, flaring from his belly.

"Sheldon!"

He could hear his brother shouting after him, but he continued to race down the blurred stairs, bursting out of the apartment building and into the cool night air. With his throbbing head to the ground, he ran along the sidewalk until his lungs begged for relief, until he could no longer hear George's voice calling his name.

_I think I want to kiss you…_

Groaning, he came to a screeching halt and leant against the brickwork of a nearby building. He tipped his head back and tried, desperately, to push away the memory, but it was no use; his mind wouldn't let him. In his warped state, he had been weak—throwing himself at her and allowing his body to take control.

He had _lost _control.

"_Sheldon…"_

He could still feel her warm body against his, still hear her wispy breaths, still _taste _her; she had been so sweet, but now it grew sourer by the second. Being against her had felt so _perfect_, but so wrong—his body begging for more but his mind wishing to tear away.

But she had been with _him. _

Been with that stupid, oversized _joke _of a brother, presumably tangled in the messy sheets of his mattress. Had that given her what she desired? Had he made her back arch, made husky moans slip through her perfect lips?

Had he taken what was his?

"_Shelly," _his father's voice suddenly slurred in his head,_ "you'll come to learn that women are good-for-nothing she-devils—luring you in to get what they want and leaving you for dead…"_

Fists clenching at his sides, he felt his face flush hotly with anger. His father was right; they were all the same—led by their endocrine system to reproduce, holding little regard for those around them. A suitable mate came along and _wham_—they moved right along. What he had done hadn't mattered; not only had he been too late, he had sabotaged his own dignity, his own brilliance, all in the name of her _desire. _

He stared into the distance, the streetlight casting an eerie glow on the pavement below, but his gaze was unseeing. Before him was his father, alcohol on his breath and a fork in his left hand, poking a pea around his plate aggressively. The memory was blurred, but he knew George sat close by.

"_You boys need to teach a woman who's boss—keep her in her place," _he said, swinging the prongs of his fork at him with a scowl. _"A firm hand is sure to do the trick…"_

He was _Dr Sheldon Cooper_, and he deserved respect. Amy had pledged herself to him, signed a contract to stand by him, and she had betrayed his trust. With his own _brother. _How _dare _she undermine him? How _dare_ she? Never had he felt so fiery—a deep-seeded, carnal anger imploring him to track down George and break his jaw, to tell Amy they were over; to hurt her as she had hurt him.

But the thought of seeing her cry made his stomach churn.

Shoulders slumping, he felt his eyes burn and his throat become knotted, and he sat on the cool sidewalk. Mind poisoned by alcohol, he couldn't suppress that tiny voice that told him it was all his fault—had he been the man his father wished of him, he wouldn't have pushed her into his brother's embrace.

* * *

Squished into Leonard's small car were three nerds, arguing over the next best turn to take in an effort to find their missing friend. The streets of Glendale were quiet at the ripe hour of two in the morning, and they were growing weary with worry.

"Okay," Leonard said diplomatically, peering over the steering wheel with tired eyes. "We've covered the area within four blocks of Amy's apartment, and still no sign of him—"

Beside him, Howard stuck his head between the seats, cell phone glowing in his hands. "Come on—this is _Sheldon _we're talking about…how far could he have gone in the dark, all on his own—"

Raj rolled down the window, a gust of wind whooshing through the cabin. "Sheldon!"

"Pipe down!" Leonard hissed, swatting his arm. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and felt anxiety swirl in his stomach. _This isn't like Sheldon…_

"I will not pipe down!" Raj retorted fiercely. "Sheldon is alone and drunk, wandering the streets of Glendale—who knows what could happen, even George sounded concerned—"

"We'll find him, Raj," Leonard said softly, and thought back to his phone call from the older Cooper brother. Voice tense with frustration, George had told him they'd better send out a search party for his intoxicated sibling, who had apparently shown up at Amy's apartment and scared her half to death.

Sighing, Howard rubbed a hand over his stubble. "Penny knows better than to load Sheldon up with alcohol and send him off on his own—what was she thinking?"

"I don't know," Leonard said tiredly, feeling a wave of frustration toward his girlfriend's actions. "She and Bernadette have gone over to check on Amy—hopefully we'll find out what happened…"

"Try this street," Raj suggested, and then frowned, staring out the window. "Why was George at Amy's apartment, anyway?"

Turning the corner, Leonard shrugged. "George didn't give me any more info than that—I don't know what happened."

Suddenly Howard jumped, pointing ahead. "There he is!"

Sure enough, a dishevelled looking Sheldon was crumped up on the sidewalk, head resting against the brickwork of a building as he stared at the starry sky above him. Leonard felt uneasy. "He doesn't look good…"

Pulling over, Leonard left the engine idling as he swung the driver door open and slipped out of the car. Sheldon's gaze didn't shift. "Hey, buddy," he said gently, making his way over. "Whatcha doing?"

In an instant, Howard was beside him. "Now isn't the time for small talk—get the man into the car and let's get out of here!"

"Hmm?" Sheldon murmured, and then looked over to Leonard. "Oh, Leonard! I was just admiring the night sky—masked by smog and cloud cover…nothing is ever quite what it seems, is it?"

"Uh oh—this isn't good," Leonard whispered to Raj, who had appeared on his other side. "We need to get him home…"

"Come on," Howard said, grabbing his bag and looping it over his skinny frame. "Let's go…"

They hauled him to his feet, and he swayed slightly. "Rajesh," he said sharply as they made their way to the vehicle. "Tell me about that constellation right there—hey, I can't see it any more—"

Forcing him into the car, they took off for home, and Sheldon grew quiet as he sulked. The three sober men looked at one another uncertainly before Leonard took a shot. "Sheldon, what were you doing at Amy's earlier?"

Two bloodshot eyes glared at him from the backseat. "How did you know I was at Amy's?"

Leonard hesitated, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "George called."

"He told us to come and find you; that you'd upset Amy…" Howard added quietly.

Sheldon scowled, his expression turning bitter. "George," he spat. "He _would _know exactly what's wrong with Amy, wouldn't he…"

"Sheldon," Leonard said loudly, snapping him from his angry trance. "You need to tell us what's going on."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Sheldon looked out the window defiantly. "I don't _need _to tell you anything."

"You're using the wrong tact, Leonard," Raj said quietly, and spun in his seat to face him. "Sheldon, I'm sure that whatever it was that happened was not your fault, and that your actions were completely justified."

After a moment, Sheldon's eyes moved to Raj's docile expression. He swallowed, and his jaw clenched. "Penny told me I could do it," he said quietly. "That I could give Amy what she wants before _George _could…"

"Oh, Penny…" Howard mumbled, shaking his head.

Raj gave him a look, and returned his focus to Sheldon. "Give Amy what she wants?"

Suddenly Sheldon looked bashful. "You know," he said vaguely, and leant forward. "_Sex."_

"Sex?" Leonard repeated, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "You went over to Amy's drunk to try to have _sex _with her?"

Sheldon ignored him. "I went to her apartment, and everything was going well until George showed up," his face hardened. "She had been there _with him _before she came home, in his apartment while I was there waiting for her to return…"

The trio remained said nothing, quiet with uncertainty. Leonard pursed his lips as he parked his car in the car park below their apartment building. Amy hadn't slept with George, had she?

"She lied to me," Sheldon said angrily, looking around at the three of them. "She told me she had been 'out'—skipping over where she had been—"

"Well, that's not really lying—" Howard began, only to receive two frosty glares from Leonard and Raj.

"Lying by omission," Sheldon corrected, and snatched his bag from the seat beside him. "She spent part of the night at my brother's apartment, and failed to tell me."

Leonard switched off the ignition and turned to his lanky friend. "Maybe it was just a social visit—I'm sure Amy would never—"

"George burst into her apartment with her jacket over his arm, saying she'd left it behind," he replied bluntly, and Leonard quietened. "What does that sound like to you?"

He scrambled out of the car and headed for the stairwell, and Leonard watched as he stalked away. Turning to his other friends, he sighed. "You guys go on home—I'll take care of him."

* * *

"So, what did Leonard say had happened?" Bernadette asked her taller friend as they ascended the stairs at Amy's apartment building.

Ahead of her slightly, Penny chewed her lip. "George called him, and said needed to go find Sheldon—apparently he'd made a scene at Amy's…"

The petite blonde peered up at her quizzically. "Let me get this straight—Sheldon shows up at your apartment, in need of advice on how to handle this whole George situation, and you fill him up with alcohol and send him on a mission to steal her virginity before his brother could?"

"Look, don't judge me—I was trying to give him some balls, and I had a fair few drinks in me as well…" Penny said defensively, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

"Right," Bernadette said condescendingly.

They arrived at Amy's door and Penny knocked gently against the wood. "Amy?"

A few moments passed and there was no response. Bernadette shrugged and wriggled the doorknob, which opened with ease. "Are you home?" her squeaky voice called into the darkness.

Throwing her keys onto the kitchen counter, Penny ran her fingers through her hair. She wasn't here. Maybe she'd gone off into the night, chasing after a drunk Sheldon, or worse, she'd gone to seek comfort from George…

"Hey, Amy," she heard Bernadette's voice say quietly, and snapped back to reality. The microbiologist had found their friend in her bedroom, sitting against the headboard looking tired and puffy-eyed. "Are you okay?"

"Hey," Amy replied, her voice croaky. "What are you doing here?"

Penny made her way around the bed and climbed aboard, sitting beside her tentatively. "We came to check on you," she told her, and noticed that she wore a pair of tracksuit pants with her floral shirt. "We heard Sheldon came over and was a little…hammered."

Bernadette popped herself on the edge of the bed and shot Penny a disapproving look. "What happened?"

Reaching for her glasses on the side table, she shrugged indifferently. "When I arrived home, Sheldon was in my apartment—I knew he was drunk but I'd never seen him so…intense," she paused, seemingly lost in the recollection. "He had this odd streak of dominance about him, and he…"

She trailed off, and Bernadette tilted her head. "He…?"

"He pinned me to the wall and he kissed me," Amy replied incredulously, shaking her head.

"Wow," Penny murmured. She could hardly imagine Sheldon pinning anyone to anything, let alone in a rare fit of lust…

Amy nodded. "I know," she said.

Shifting her weight to sit more comfortably, Bernadette frowned. "You don't seem happy about it…?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm ecstatic about the kiss," she said, tucking a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear. "There was some definite grinding—and let me tell you, there is no question about his fully-developed manhood…"

Penny smirked at Amy's revelation. "I cannot believe Sheldon would—"

"_But_…?" Bernadette stressed, interrupting Penny.

Biting her lip, Amy looked at her. "George arrived…"

"Why?"

Hesitating, Amy cleared her throat. "He was returning my jacket to me—I'd left it at his apartment."

Looking at her sharply, Penny narrowed her eyes. "And you were taking off your jacket in his apartment because…?"

"Because I walked there, and didn't need it on indoors," Amy said matter-of-a-factedly. "Please don't complicate this."

"Okay," Bernadette said softly, steering the conversation. "George came to your apartment, and let me guess…Sheldon saw red?"

Amy nodded again. "Yes," she said weakly. "He thought I'd slept with George, and they fought, and then it became apparent that Sheldon had visited my apartment purely to 'give me what I wanted'…"

Penny felt a wave of guilt swim over her. "That would be my fault," she said. "Sheldon came to me for advice earlier, and I gave him a drink to loosen up—"

"What did you tell him?" Amy cut in.

"Don't get mad," Penny began, "I told him that—as he knew—George has a very strong attraction to you and that I was worriedly the feeling was mutual, but—"

"You _what?_"

Penny shifted to face her. "Ames, it's not like it's a lie; and Sheldon is never going to get anywhere without a push—"

"I'm sorry," Amy said angrily, glaring at her. "But how did that turn into Sheldon presuming that sex was the only solution?"

Sighing, Penny dove in. "I told him that it was possible that George was only interested in you because you're, well, you know…"

"A virgin?" Amy replied acidly. "That's what you think?"

"Penny!" Bernadette scolded, looking appalled at her admission.

"The man is a sleaze, I don't like him," Penny said defensively. "Why else would he—"

"Want a girl like me?" Amy said, her voice choked and hurt.

"Amy, you need to sort out how you feel, this isn't fair on anyone—"

"How I feel?" she spat, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed and standing up. "You know how I feel? I feel utterly confused—Sheldon only wants to touch me if he feels his territory is threatened, George is everything Sheldon isn't, and you—my best friend—are telling me that all I'm not good enough?"

Bernadette stood as well, reaching out for her. "Amy, that's not what she means—"

"That's exactly what she means," she said thickly, tears burning her eyes. "Someone like George would never be genuinely interested is someone like me, and someone like Sheldon is all I'll ever get."

Shuffling to the edge, Penny frowned. "That's not fair, Amy, you love Sheldon, and we all know that one day he'll come around—and that day may be sooner than you think," she said. "All I'm saying is that you need to be careful of George; be smart about this, men like him are often only in it for one thing—"

Amy folded her arms over her chest. "You don't know anything about George, Penny! _I _do! He's not like you think, and even if I don't have the perfect body or the blonde hair or the confidence like you do he _is _interested in me."

Pressing her lips, Penny groaned. This was hopeless; it was obvious Amy was falling for him, straight into his trap. "Fine, think what you want," she said tightly and rose from her spot. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"And I don't want to see _anyone _get hurt," Bernadette said firmly, stepping between them. She turned to Amy. "Amy, you need to set the record straight with Sheldon; tell him you didn't sleep with George."

Amy chewed her lip. "He's not going to talk to me…"

"Too bad," Bernadette snapped. "He'll have to. Then, you need to have a good, hard think about whether you want to be in this relationship with Sheldon, and sort out your feelings for George."

Penny watched as Amy stared off into the distance silently. If she were to leave Sheldon for George, the fallout would be brutal, and she didn't know if she could handle picking up the pieces. But for her friend's sake, in any case, she hoped she was wrong; she hoped George wanted her for more than her innocence.

"The relationship may already be over," Amy said finally, her voice small. "As Sheldon left he said 'I hope you got what you wanted from him'…there's no way he wants to be anywhere near me ever again."

Penny's phone vibrated in her jeans pocket, and she wrenched it out. _Sheldon not good, _it read from Leonard, and she ground her teeth. Perhaps Amy was right…

* * *

_He cupped her face between the palms of his hands, staring down at her glowing green eyes from above. She was weak beneath his grasp, whimpering and shaking, and he pressed the weight of his body against her own, pinning her to the wall behind them. The edges of his vision were blurred, and the darkness was all encompassing, hiding the things he knew he shouldn't do. Boldly, he sank his lips to her neck, nibbling at the skin, and she gasped his name all over again. She reached for his chest, but he snatched up her wrists, locking them above her head with one hand. Something pure and primal was itching at him, begging him to tear off her clothes and take her as she was, but there was something else…something livid and dark. She had hurt him, she deserved nothing. Again she whispered his name, but it only enraged him, and—in an instant—his hand had connected with her cheek, and she went sprawling to the floor…_

Gasping, Sheldon sat upright in his bed, his heart slamming in his chest. Immediately, harsh daylight seared his eyes and his head throbbed, and he cradled it in his hands. His body ached, and he stared down into his lap, noting his mussed appearance—wearing only his briefs and an undershirt. A stirring, squeamish sensation rolled in his stomach, and he groaned as the events of the evening prior came streaming back.

He wrapped his arms around his lanky knees and squeezed his eyes closed. His dream had been so…surreal. The anger he had felt boiling in his veins was all too familiar, and he could nearly feel the sting on his backhand from where he had…

_No._

The thought made him feel sick—sicker than he already felt. No, he would never, ever hurt Amy…no matter how badly she had hurt him.

"_I hope you got what you wanted from him…"_

He groaned, and threw himself back into his pillow. Perhaps she had gotten what she wanted. Perhaps she had decided that George could give her everything he couldn't, and sought it of her own accord. Perhaps she was no better than any other woman out there.

Perhaps it was all his own fault.

This wouldn't do; he couldn't allow such a menial distraction in his life. He needed to focus on what was important—science, knowledge, the Nobel prize. He couldn't let her get into his head.

Tossing himself out of bed, he marched down the hallway. In the kitchen, Leonard looked at him sceptically, and gave him a forced smile. "Hey, Sheldon, how you doing?"

Ignoring him, Sheldon opened his laptop and, within a few short clicks, one of his most important documents was on his screen. Swallowing, he felt his chest tighten as he created a new email to his girlfriend, with a very specific subject line.

_Termination of Relationship Agreement.  
_

* * *

Gazing out of the tall window of his lonely apartment, he drew an arm behind his head. It was early—too early—but he couldn't sleep. Sheets bunched around his hips, stifling him, and he kicked them away. His apartment was stuffy and warm, and the morning sun poured through the curtain-less windows menacingly. "Fine," he growled out loud, and hauled his large frame off the floor and into the bathroom.

He flicked on the tap and splashed water onto his rough cheeks, leaning against the counter heavily. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remove her from his mind…her spread knees, skirt slid up her thighs, her shocked expression as she pressed herself against the wall in the apartment…

"Jesus," he swore, and looked up at his reflection in the paint-splattered mirror. The man in front of him looked tired—stubble dotting his jawline and his sapphire eyes ringed with red veins. Hanging against his tight chest was a worn dog tag, etched with his father's shared name. He stared at it for a moment, before wrenching it over his neck and tossing it across the tiles. Clenching his jaw, he looked back, and the striking man before him simply looked more tired than before.

Tugging off his clothing, he started the shower and stepped under the scorching stream, letting it run into his eyes. He hardly felt it burn, not any more, and instead stared at the tiles aimlessly. Her husky voice was so near, and he imagined her right there with him—dark hair wet and fair skin glistening as she knelt before him, peering up from behind those glasses with vibrant, curious eyes…he could hold her exactly where he wanted her…

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he growled, spinning to douse himself in hot water. Instead, he thought back to his late night shift the evening prior—to which he had turned up late.

"_Can I get…" a giggling voice said playfully, and he turned at the bar to face a raven-haired beauty, "a big, tall glass of you—oh, oops, I mean vodka…"_

_He flashed his white grin and leant toward the drunken girl. "What can I really get you?"_

_She licked her lips and took a seat on the stool in front of him, leaning on her elbows. "Anything you like," she said quietly._

_Tossing the tea towel over his shoulder, he looked her over. She was, by any standards, gorgeous—tall and slender with a rack that would knock any man flying. Noticing his gaze wander over her form, she pressed her cleavage together and fluttered her eyelashes. "You could have any girl here, you know."_

_Reaching for a wet glass, he began to dry it off. "That would probably get me fired," he said with a smirk._

"_Only if they find out," she said temptingly. Her brown eyes locked with his but he just felt…nothing. "When do you get off?"_

_Resting his hip against the bar, he remained vague. "Not sure."_

_She pouted. "Girlfriend?"_

"_Nah," he said, and slid a beer down the end of the bar to an awaiting patron._

"_Then why not?" she said impatiently, cocking her head and giving him a definite, puppy-eyed look._

Because there's someone else I want, _he thought. "Sorry, not tonight."_

He ran his fingers through his wet hair and huffed. Under regular circumstances, he and his raven-haired friend would barely be finishing off their fun for the night, and she—quite possibly—would be in the shower with him. But he had turned her away, all for something he couldn't have.

_We'll see, _a devious voice chimed in.

Any woman—he could have any woman he liked. One look and they were his, and yet this _vixen _he had come to know was his biggest challenge. She made him weak; stopped him from seeing the potential in others, and made him _care. _

That made him think of the shocked, frightened look that had graced her features when he had found her last night.

Had Sheldon hurt her, he didn't know what he would have done. The thought of her being harmed, being _manhandled, _by anyone made him want to throw a fist through the plaster. There was only one man who could be rough with her; one who knew what he was doing…

Aggravated, he stepped out of the shower and dried off his body, wrapping the towel around his hips. Work wasn't until the afternoon, and it was barely nine. He stepped into the kitchen and tipped cereal into a bowl, filling it with milk. After the events of the evening prior, he could hardly visit Amy—he would just have to preoccupy himself in some other way.

_Maybe go pay Sheldon a visit, _that voice said again. _The brother who thinks he's so much better than you, when truly he's just the same…_

Beside him, his phone vibrated on the bench, almost toppling off the edge. He caught it, and frowned as he saw Amy's name light up the screen.

_I need to see you again. _

Well, he was hardly going to turn down that offer.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Look at me go—another chapter in a week! Go me! Thank you all for the incredible reviews, I am so overwhelmed by the response it's just fantastic. Glad to see I have so many of you squirming—I've got you right where I want you. Also, Please also be sure to check out updates/commentary on my Shamy tumblr - shamylicious . tumblr . com. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

It was once he got to sixteen years old that he had his first taste of power—but he'd known it was there well before.

He had a curfew, but like hell he was going to stick to it. It was a hot, muggy night in their hometown; one of the few nights where it rained so hard that the puddles on the pavement steamed. No one would notice he was gone, and as he wandered the lonely streets he wondered whether he would notice them.

Three pebbles against her window and she clambered out like clockwork, ready to run free with him in the night air. She slithered down the tree outside her window, silvery curls twinkling in the moonlight, and gave him a cheeky smile as she enticed him to chase her. They ran until their feet ached; until their muscles were jelly; until their wet clothes clung to them like a second skin. Through the neighbouring fields and toward the open horizon, until the silent laughter choked their lungs.

They careened into a barn, giggling and wide-eyed, and he threw her onto a pile of hay bails. Hair littered with straw and vibrant pajamas askew, she gave him a smile and that was all it took. He hovered above her, bent to her, and she gave in without question.

Falling into her was easier than anything he had ever done. Finding a rhythm, their rhythm, and the places that made her writhe was rewarding, and came like a second nature. The slight jut of her hips, the sweet taste of her skin, the heat they created together—it was simple, natural, palpable.

But above all, as he moved against her, he knew he could have anything he wanted. He told her to move, she did. He told her to stop, she did. He held her in place, and she gave no resistance. He could have precisely what he wanted, if he knew what to say; how to act; what to do. She filled him, as he filled her.

But it never stayed full.

* * *

_I do not have feelings for him, _she thought, arms folded over her chest as she studied the intricately woven quilt hanging from the back of her apartment door.

Forty-two minutes. It had been forty-two long minutes since Amy had sent George the message, and forty-three since she had received a token 'OK' in return. She didn't know the man that well, really, yet knew him well enough to know that it meant he was on his way. It was almost as though this curse came with its own telepathic abilities; based on mutual understanding and cryptic movements.

And that's what it was—a curse. After ushering her girlfriends out the door in the early hours of the night before, Amy had hardly slept, hardly _moved. _Her mind, though bright and sharp, was foggy with thoughts of _them. _Of what had happened. Of what could happen.

Of what _would _happen.

Above all else—at four in the morning—Amy had felt _angry. _She tried, endlessly, to remove herself from the situation; to will herself to be an outsider; someone with no prejudice and nothing to lose. Each time she did, the same unsettling thought always bobbed its way to the surface: _this shouldn't be happening to you._

Not just because of her looks, or her mind, or anything else that—fundamentally—made her, well, _her. _Not because her 'chastity' was still perfectly in tact, or because George was excruciatingly attractive. Because, as the years of evidence supported, she was Sheldon's _suitor. _In a nutshell (one with the roughest edges), she was unequivocally ideal for him. Quirky, unique, strong, brilliant—it was near impossible to deny that they were perfectly suited to one another; like the two halves of a stone cracked seamlessly down the middle. She was not a believer in soul mates, or destiny or fate, but sometimes, when she locked eyes with him, she wondered if her life had been specially crafted _for him, _rather than for herself.

And this conclusion was true in reverse—Sheldon could be deemed perfect for her, in a perfect world. When nurtured by her, their relationship had begun to turn into something wonderful; with understanding and trust and fears being overcome and everything people wished for in a relationship of any kind. Yet when she stepped away, and looked at the facts—she was so brilliant at that—the proof was right there: it worked based on suitability and adequacy and similarity and expediency.

_Numerous other tangible elements that are required in a working relationship—right?_

Perhaps that was why, when—earlier that morning—she had stared at Sheldon's notice of termination with so little emotion. Perhaps that was why she hadn't replied. Perhaps that was why she had lurched for her phone and sent George that message.

Because, before she could go anywhere from here, she needed to prove that this attraction _couldn't _exist.

So now she waited. Waited to see if she could, maybe, demand the answers to _how _and _why _and turn them into _impossible _and _preposterous. _Waited to see if she could look at George and remind herself of how wrong this all was. Waited to see if she could convince herself otherwise on all fronts.

She jumped when his knock sounded at her door, and drew in a sharp breath before swinging it open. He looked like an unmade bed—hair standing up in every direction and stubble dotting his jawline_. _She opened her mouth to speak but he stalked straight past her, dumping a paper bag on her kitchen counter.

"I brought you breakfast," he said softly, and caught her eye as she closed the door. Instantly, she softened—it was there again: his ability to say so much without saying anything at all.

"Thank you," she said, and made no move for the food. Instead, she watched as he folded his arms over his chest and leant against the counter edge.

"Eat," he demanded, and she snatched the bag, tearing it open to reveal a small pastry. Tearing the edge off, she stuffed it into her mouth and chewed. "Better."

"Thank you," she repeated, though she didn't know why. "I needed to talk to you about—"

"Tell me honestly," he interrupted suddenly, holding her gaze, "did he hurt you?"

"What? No!" she said instantly, shaking her head vehemently.

George tilted his head. "Then why am I here?"

Suddenly the conversation she had planned to have with him was blurry. She gaped at him for a moment, trying to begin again, but nothing came out.

"The thing is, Ames," he said, shuffling slightly, "everyone seems to think it's _you _who has the power to hurt Sheldon, when—in fact—you're as vulnerable to him as he is to you." He levelled with her, and she bit her lip. "I can tell that you didn't ask me here because of what happened last night—there's more to it than that."

Across from him in her tiny kitchen, Amy swallowed and broke eye contact. She could not let him do this, not now. "I need to prove to myself that this cannot work," she said weakly.

She looked up to find George's gaze hazy, his jaw clenched. "I can't help you with that," he said quietly.

"Why not?" she asked, and knew it was a stupid question.

He sighed, exasperated. "Amy, this is ridiculous! I can't help you convince yourself that there's nothing between us so you can clear your conscience and go back to square one—that's not how this works!"

"That's how it's _got _to work," she said, before she could stop herself. "I have weighed the results and the conclusion is clear—Sheldon and I are far better suited and this can't—"

To her complete surprise, he laughed. "This isn't some science experiment—you can't write it off based on facts and figures—"

"Yes I can," she said firmly, and only then realised her hands were shaking in front of her. "I have to." _I have to so I can save the relationship I hardly have._

George straightened. "Alright," he said stiffly. "What do you need from me?"

"I need you to tell me," she said slowly, "why I shouldn't feel this way for you."

The thought seemed to pain him, and his face contorted slightly. "Amy, I can't—"

"Give me a reason," she continued, sailing over him. "Please, George. I know that you care enough to help me."

"Fine," he said curtly. "You shouldn't feel this way for me because I could never give you a conventional relationship."

_But I don't want one._

"You shouldn't feel this way for me because I would never challenge you—I would only ever expect you to come as you are."

_No pressure to be perfect—that would be bliss._

"You shouldn't feel this way for me because I am fucked up and you don't know the half of it."

_I want to help you._

"You shouldn't feel this way for me because I would want you to give in completely—let me be in control; romantically, sexually…"

He was in front of her now, and she hadn't realised she was crying. Trailing off, he enveloped her, holding her shaking frame against his large one. "I can't give you any more reasons, Amy," he whispered. "If I could deny this and walk away, I would, but I just…"

_Can't._

And neither could she. The reality of her predicament hit her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, soaking George's shirt in tears. This wasn't fair; it couldn't be…

"I don't _want _to," he continued, and for a moment Amy had forgotten that he was there; glued to her in a way that felt too perfect. "You can try to string together every reason under the sun why this _shouldn't _work, but it's right here—"

Amy pushed away from his tight grip, fearing that if she stayed any longer, she would evaporate into thin air. "And I can't do it, George," she said, through a suffocated sob. "You have no idea how hard this is to handle—"

"You think this is easy for me?" he said suddenly, grasping her wrists and holding her firmly in front of him. "To be so incredibly turned on by my brother's girlfriend, who is _so _different from any woman I've ever seen? To try to resist pursuing her when she's right here in front of me?"

For the umpteenth time that morning, his words made Amy feel like she was going to disappear in a puff of smoke. _Incredibly turned on? _She eyed his hands on her wrists; tanned, large hands enclosing around her dainty fair ones. After a moment, he sighed and locked eyes with her. "I want you more than words can describe," he said deeply. "I think about you all the time—saying things, _doing _things—"

"Sheldon gave me a notice of termination," she blurted, and wasn't sure whether this confession was a warning or an invitation.

George's eyes darkened, narrowing at her. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I think I thought that if I could gather enough proof, enough factual evidence, that Sheldon and I were 'destined' to be together I could put forward a case, and win back what we had…"

He let go of her wrists and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't think that's why you're telling me," he said quietly, and looked directly at her. "Besides, we already know you don't have enough proof."

That_ was _why she told him, wasn't it? Because he needed to know her plan, because he needed to know why she invited him to her apartment in the first place? A rough finger hooked under her chin and tilted her neck up to look at him. "You're telling me because you have a reason to try," he said. "With me."

The words stole her breath. "No," she said, but even _she _didn't believe it.

He swept closer to her quickly, and she froze, his breath warm on her cheek. "Do what you want," he murmured, and she shivered as he traced his fingers over the base of her neck. "But the moment you snap you're fingers I'll be here."

And in an instant, he was gone.

* * *

For the twenty-second time that day, Sheldon erased his workings and tried to start over.

He had arrived to the university bright and early that morning, hoping to make some inroads on his most recent work. It seemed, however, that getting down to business with such _menial_ issues on his mind was harder than it appeared, and it was becoming difficult to resist tossing his whiteboard marker out the window.

"Drat," he muttered solemnly, and made his way over to his desk, taking a seat. He glanced at his laptop, and away again, before settling his hand on the mouse and awakening the sleeping beast. Flicking his eye over his emails, he frowned. Still nothing.

He had _assumed _that she would respond immediately to his notice; begging him to rethink his decision, or discuss the issue at hand. Truth be told, he held no interest in talking to her, or anyone else for that matter. Each time he thought of her, he felt like his ribcage was going to be swallowed by his stomach, and the sensation was nothing short of disconcerting. No, it wouldn't do; he would just have to press on without a response, and assume the termination had taken full effect.

_Assumptions _seemed to be his weak spot, of late.

Earlier that morning, he had received a phone call from his mother, checking in on her _favourite _son. The conversation had been filled with airy conversation and heavy lies—_how's Amy, Shelly? Fine, Mom. How's George? Fine, Mom. Are the two of you getting along? Of course, Mom._

Lying, under any circumstances, did not come naturally to him—but it was funny how, once hurt by lies, one could muster up the ability to let them flow out so freely.

He _hated _lying to his own mother. In fact, the thought of doing so sent him spiralling back into silly concerns about being sent straight to hell, but he forced them down. Once he had hung up the phone, and hung his head to reflect on what he had done, he determined that—yet again—his father was right: _what them women-folk don't know won't kill 'em._

Perhaps _that _was Amy's intention after all—perhaps she felt she could pull the wool over his eyes and sleep with George whilst maintaining her relationship with him. Perhaps it was all going to be _on the sly. _He felt the sides of the mouse begin to crunch in his death-grip and loosened, trying to quell the anger that insisted on ruining _everything._

His office darkened as afternoon cloud shrouded the windows, and he cast his eye over the mess of textbooks and papers and pens scattered across his desk. For his own standards, the place was a mess, but he was struggling to find a reason to care—because he really, really didn't.

And part of it were the _stupid _thoughts that continued to plague his mind since hitting the send button on his email earlier that day. Sure, Amy had hurt him, but hadn't he had it coming? If he'd made it there sooner, acted sooner, would something like this ever have happened?

What had been stoping him, anyway?

He looped the cord of his office phone around his finger multiple times, and slowly uncoiled it again. The question irritated him no end. Whatever had been stopping him didn't _matter _anymore, because sex was no longer on—or even _near_—the agenda. End of story. Regardless of how he thought about Amy's fair skin, about her husky voice, about her soft breasts—

He growled, and nearly yanked the phone from the wall in a fit of frustration. He was stronger than this—_she _was the one who was a slave to her hormones, not him. _She _was the one who was that desperate and unfulfilled that she had throw herself at _his brother. _

_But was it me that left her feeling desperate and unfulfilled?_

A moment later, the screen of his computer lit up, revealing a fresh email in his inbox. He felt his stomach clench as Amy's name filled the address bar, replying to his message from earlier that day.

_Sheldon, _it read, _expect the signed paperwork before the end of today. _

There was no sign off; no signature; no tiny x's and o's that he had learnt to persevere. Just an email that told him the termination would be signed off on that day. Done and dusted.

Throwing his belongings into his bag, he scurried out of the building without telling a soul, heading straight home before they could see the shine on his eyes.

* * *

Leonard was tired.

Truly, it had been a very tiring day. Troubles in the lab, a bicker with Penny, and _another _search for Sheldon when he abandoned the university without telling anyone. Although, he supposed, he could never claim that his life was _boring._

He flopped onto the couch with a cool drink and flicked on the television, resting his legs on the coffee table. Finally, a moment to rest on his own. Sheldon was locked away in his room, where he had been since Leonard had arrived home, and Penny was not yet back from her shift at work. Perhaps he could catch up on an episode of Doctor Who, or that documentary he had recorded—_Seven Wonders of the Industrial World—_

Suddenly, he heard a noise outside his apartment door and frowned, steering his neck around to look. A piece of paper had been slid under the door, and he leapt off the couch to snatch it up—upon casting his eye over it, he wrenched the door open.

"Amy!" he called, and she jumped, not having made it far down the stairwell. She looked back at him with red, tired eyes. "What is this?"

He held up the paperwork, which was entitled 'Termination of Relationship Agreement', and had her spirally signature looped along the bottom line. "It's what Sheldon wanted," she said weakly, and began to descend the stairs.

"Wait!" he said, and she reluctantly turned around. "Sheldon did this?"

Amy smiled bitterly. "Well, in his estimation, _I _did this…"

Looking over the document in his hands, he pursed his lips. "Yeah, I heard," he said. "We went and found Sheldon last night, and he told me what had happened."

In actuality, Sheldon had hardly said a word after the two friends had gone inside—amongst a few grunts and icy glares Leonard had determined that he was in _no _state for chatting about his woes. The concept of Amy cheating on Sheldon with his own brother was difficult for Leonard to swallow, and he struggled to believe it, but he had seen the way George looked at her—and wouldn't put it past them.

"I didn't do it," she said, as though she had read his mind. "In true Sheldon style, he jumped to conclusions."

Leonard frowned and approached her, folding his arms over his chest. "Why don't you just try to talk to him—tell him the truth?"

Her eyes shifted away, and she looked uneasy. "Leonard, you know Sheldon," she said. "I think this is best for both of us."

Her honest confession surprised him; she seemed to be the one person who could not only stand Sheldon, but handle him too. "I'm really sorry, Amy," he said genuinely, and patted her arm. "Maybe now's not the right time."

"Maybe," she said with a tight smile. "Thanks."

He watched her go, and returned into his apartment, heading down the hall and standing outside of Sheldon's room. After a moment of hesitation, he slid the paper under his door as Amy had done and moved away. Within seconds, Sheldon had swung the door open, paper crumpled in his hand and eyes bloodshot.

"She dropped it off just now," Leonard said automatically, taken aback by his appearance.

Sheldon drew the document up under his nose and scanned it, before glaring at his best friend and slamming the door once again. Throwing his hands up in exhaustion, Leonard headed for the couch. Perhaps an intervention was in order.

* * *

"Alright!" Penny's voice boomed. "Little bit of hush everyone so we can get down to business…"

Raj swung around on the loveseat and waved his empty beer bottle. "I need a refill."

"Get it yourself," she snapped, and crossed the room to stand beside Bernadette. Leonard, Howard and Raj sat in her living area, equipped with beers and snacks and looks of displeasure on their faces.

"Bernie," Howard complained. "You know that if we're not back in time for dinner my mother will get snippy—"

"Shut it," the tiny wife barked, and he instantly quietened. "Now, Penny and I called you all here after Leonard found out some sad news this afternoon—"

"Ah, so this little soiree was _your _fault—"

"Raj!" Penny chastised, and glared at the three men. "We all know about what happened between Sheldon and Amy last night, but—according to Leonard—Sheldon put forth a notice of termination this morning—"

"A what?"

Bernadette huffed. "He broke up with her, and she agreed."

"Oh no!" Raj said, his tone changing. "Poor Amy…"

Leonard sat forward, grabbing a chip. "Amy signed off on this termination notice because Sheldon thinks she slept with George—"

"Did she?" Howard asked, swinging around to look at the physicist.

"Of course not," Bernadette said. "We wanted to get everyone together to talk about the impact this is going to have on our group, and try to figure out the best way to tackle this so _everyone _is happy."

Penny shuffled over to the couch and sat on the armrest. "Sheldon may not want to admit it, but this is killing him," she said. "He's got it in him to be a better boyfriend—if we just give him a little push then maybe we can—"

"I don't know if that's the best idea," Leonard interrupted. "Amy seemed pretty withdrawn; I don't know if she even wants to be with Sheldon any more."

Sighing, Bernadette exchanged looks with Penny. "Leonard's right—we need to give Amy some time to decide what she wants—"

"She doesn't know what she wants—"

"Exactly," Bernadette said shortly. "And that is why we need to give her some time."

The group was quiet for a moment, mulling over the separation. "So, what do we do now?" Howard said finally, casting his eye around.

Leonard shrugged. "I suppose we treat the group as we always have—Sheldon's still our friend and so is Amy," he said. "We do our best to involve them if they want to be involved."

"What about George?" Raj said suddenly.

"What _about _George?" Penny burst, scowling at him. "He can go jump off a cliff—"

"We can hardly exclude him, he's a nice guy—"

"That guy is not _nice, _he's a sleazy piece of work—"

Leonard held up a hand in protest. "Come on, Penny, you don't even know the guy," he said, and she glared at him. "From what we can tell, he has a thing for Amy, and Sheldon is too clueless to do anything about it."

"I agree," Bernadette said firmly, and Penny's glare instantly fixed on her. "We're not going to dangle George in Sheldon's face, but we all have a right to socialise with him if we want to."

Penny groaned. "Are you kidding me?"

"Penny," Leonard began, hushing her. "You know _exactly _what Sheldon is like—he's very capable of twisting things to how he wants them. If George—for whatever reason—continues to be a part of our social group then we will give him the benefit of the doubt. A lot of this rests on what Amy decides, and we can't make that decision for her."

Bernadette took a sip of her drink and looked over at the waitress. "You just need to be her friend, Penny."

"Fine," Penny said stiffly. "I just don't wanna see her get hurt."

* * *

That night, Sheldon dreamt that he was George.

He dreamt that he was in his apartment, tugging the clothes from Amy's body.

He dreamt that he was kissing her fair skin, making her happy in all the ways he couldn't.

He dreamt that he was inside her, moving with her, and never against her.

He dreamt that he had his confidence, his body, his charm, and that she couldn't resist him one bit.

He dreamt that his true self watched over miserably, wishing for everything he couldn't have.

And when he woke up, he burned the Relationship Agreement and swished the ashes down the sink.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _I am terribly sorry for the slow update this time around—I was aiming to have a chapter up some time ago, but—and for those who follow me on Tumblr you'll already be aware of this—my surgery sort of snuck up on me and really had to be the focus. I am still recovering, and the results weren't great, so please be patient with me over the next week or two. I hope you all enjoy this chapter—I saw some of the, um, controversy (?) I caused last time, with some fans claiming to dislike Amy and dislike the drama…I've said it before, and I'll say it again: _if you don't like stories in which the characters are tested, or you don't like drama, or you just don't like anything that isn't fluff and fairies, this isn't for you. _

So, that being said, this chapter is full of drama! But, have faith, it is all—slowly—coming together. What's life without a little drama, hey? Enjoy, and remember to review!

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

A hot, ferocious wind gushed through the rusted truck window, prickling his skin and ruffling his hair. He drummed his fingers against the fiery metal impatiently, jaw set and eyes ahead, pondering the precious minutes he was wasting in that grimy vehicle with his father. Back home, in his room, there was _so much _to do—summer break or not, he needed to get ahead, well ahead.

Beside him, his father grunted and grasped the bottle of whiskey that was jammed between his thighs, raising it to his lips for a swig. "I'd better see your best behaviour, boy," he drawled, swinging the truck into the gravel car park of the local bar. "None of that smart-mouthed bullshit."

"Fine, _Dad_," he seethed, slamming the door and following him to the entrance of the dusty tavern. The dim establishment smelt stale and smoky, and its patrons' bloodshot eyes scanned him with tired judgement. A country tune floated around the space, and murmured conversation filled the space in between. This was _not _the place for him.

His father skulked across to the bar and slipped onto a stool, casting his gaze over a tall bartender mixing a drink nearby. Awkwardly, he stood beside him, rising onto the balls of his feet to see over the threshold and carefully avoiding contact with any filthy furniture surrounding him. The bartender swung her long hair in their direction, and bit down a smile as she sashayed over. "Hey, _you,_" she cooed at his unshaven father, leaning forward and poking out her chest as she wiped down the counter with a ragged cloth.

"Hey," his father replied, and he felt the instant temptation to roll his eyes. "Long time no see."

She fluttered her thick eyelashes at him, ebony eyes dark with something he couldn't place. Giggling, she turned her attention to him, and flashed a false smile. "And who might this little fella be?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but his father was quicker. "The other son, Sheldon," he gave her a pointed look. "You know, the one I was telling you about."

"Oh!" her eyes widened in recognition, and she nodded slowly, patronisingly. "How nice to meet you, Shelly! I bought you a little something…"

The bottle blonde twirled away to a leopard-spotted handbag sprawled across the floor, beneath a green neon sign flickering away hopelessly. She bent to it and he felt his father's elbow dig into his ribs as her low-cut jeans lowered to reveal a black, lacy undergarment. "Look at that view, Shelly," his father sneered, and he grimaced, looking away as heat rose to his cheeks.

She returned, a slender box wrapped in brown paper between her scarlet-tipped fingers. "Your daddy told me you like, uh, dolls…"

Eyeing her carefully, he took the package. "Action figures," he said, gingerly peeling back the sticky tape and stripping away the wrinkled paper. Smiling back at him with a beaming white grin that contrasted against near-orange skin was a plastic figurine, clad in camouflage attire and grasping a gun in his moulded right hand. Pursing his lips, he looked back to the bartender. "I'm sorry, but this is _G.I. Joe_—_hardly _in the same league as some of my _prized_—"

A sharp glare from his father immediately silenced him, and he returned his eyes to the figure behind shiny packaging. "Thank you," he mumbled.

"You are most welcome," she said brightly, and leant onto her elbows to catch his gaze. "Now, you've gotta promise me you won't tell your Mom about this little visit today, okay?"

He snapped his neck up to her, narrowing his eyes. "Who _are _you?"

"I," she began, bouncing back into her perky demeanour, "am the young lady who's keeping your Dad happy. That's what you want for him, isn't it?"

In a perfect world—one where he wasn't standing beside the man who provided his Y chromosome and little else—he would have told her no, and that it was too late for poorly executed blackmail as not only his mother but the entire _town _knew of the affair his father was so subtly having. But he needed a bed to rest in that night, and past experience proved that it simply wasn't worth it.

So, instead, he said nothing.

* * *

_What have I done?_

She should have been at work. Should have been up, ready and raring to go. Should have been conversing with colleagues, slipping on her lab coat, analysing results.

She should have been doing a lot of things, really.

But instead, Amy laid in her bed, doona tossed aside and sheet wrapped around her legs in a twisted mess. She stared at the blurred blades of her ceiling fan, whirring above her, and tried to ignore the morning sun blasting through her window. Time had completely escaped her; since waking at some unholy hour of the morning, she had tossed and turned, slipping in and out of dreams of familiar faces and sad circumstances. It was tiring, _exhausting, _and a sick day truly had been in order—everything about her screamed _drained_; from her actions to her words to her eyes.

Groping at her nightstand, she slid her glasses on and sat upright, drawing her knees to her chest as that _damn _question ran through her mind all over again. What _had _she done? Driven away her very first love? Led his brother to believe it was him she wanted instead?

_You signed it all on the dotted line._

Her eyes prickled and she buried her head into the fabric of her nightgown. Sheldon wouldn't have listened. She would have gone to him, desperate, and explained the _truth, _but he would have sent her away. He didn't want their relationship as a burden any longer. He didn't want _her. _What more could she have done?

_Much more._

A choked sob escaped her and she dug her fingers into her legs painfully. In her confusion, her emotionless haze, she had signed the termination without another thought—but she felt it now, like a knife in her guts; she felt it now that it was said and done.

"_You're telling me because you have a reason to try…with me."_

George's voice purred in her ear all over again and she felt herself shiver. Was he right? Had she so rashly decided to agree to the termination for an opportunity to be with him? For a moment, as she sat in her quiet bedroom, she tried to imagine him there with her; at the end of her bed, pushing her back and kissing her neck, spreading her legs apart, telling her he loved her…

But this time—in this fantasy—as her head hit the pillow, it was Sheldon looming over her, not George.

She groaned, and threw herself across the bed to close the pesky drapes, sending the room into darkness. Shuffling, she began to turn back over, but paused when she spotted an odd pile of belongings on her bedroom floor.

"What the hell?" she murmured, leaning over the edge to snatch up the crumpled bundle. A creased black t-shirt with a Rubik's cube unrolled itself in her hands, and she held it out in front of her, mouth slightly ajar. This was _Sheldon's _t-shirt. Peering over the edge, a pair of familiar brown sneakers sat inconspicuously at the base of the bed, as though they had been kicked off prior to hopping in.

_His shoe-less feet kicked my knees apart, and he pressed against me in that thin undershirt…_

She gasped, letting the shirt fall onto the covers. The memory of Sheldon's body so close to her own set her alight; reigniting every minute detail of that night. Before she had arrived home, he had been in her bedroom, on the opposite side of the bed to her own, stripping off his clothing…

Swishing aside the covers, she hastily threw on the nearest clothing she could find and smoothed her hair as she raced out the door, Sheldon's reject clothing grasped in her hand. Cool air hit her cheeks as she entered the car park, and she thrust herself into the front seat of her car with a huff. What _was _this? What had he done?

Or, more importantly, what had _she _done?

She sped out of the building, palms clammy on the steering wheel as she rushed toward Sheldon's workplace. The bundle on the seat beside her taunted her as scenery blurred past—the very thought of Sheldon preparing for such a significantmoment in their peculiar relationship leaving her stomach churning. She thudded her head against the headrest in frustration, groaning. More than anything, she wanted to tell herself this was a mistake—that it was all her fault and there was no one to blame but herself. She wanted to banish George from every corner of her mind where he had so seamlessly seeped in and mend the tattered pieces of her relationship with Sheldon. She _wanted _to, but how could she, when all she was left with was _this?_

Within minutes she found herself mindlessly marching down the hallway at the university, with nothing but a handful of clothes and her car keys in her hands. She shoved past workers and students in a fluster, and arrived outside Sheldon's office, where the door was wide open and he sat unsuspectingly at his desk. His usually haughty, proud posture was replaced by slumped shoulders, and he held his head in his hands. For a fleeting moment, she stood speechlessly in the doorway, every word she had planned to utter escaping her in a guilt-ridden rush.

The air thickened with tension as he lifted his head to look at her, eyes darkening. "What are you doing here?"

"What are these?" she countered, calling upon all of her strength and holding the items out at arm's length.

He sat back in his seat and folded his arms over his chest, staring at her. It was only then that she noticed the shadow along his jaw, beneath his eyes. "I think you will find that they are my clothes," he said coldly. "Place them on the desk and be on your way."

"No, Sheldon," she said, her voice shaky with emotion. "Why were they in my _apartment_? Beside my bed?"

His gaze moved to the wall and his demeanour soured further. "Logic would tell you that I left them behind," he said, and looked back to her. "But you would know all about leaving items of clothing behind in people's apartment now, wouldn't you?"

A sudden, icy shot of rage took hold of Amy, and she took a few steps closer to his desk. "Did you ever think that perhaps you overreacted, Sheldon? That leaving a coat at a friend's apartment meant nothing even remotely sinister?"

He turned his attention back to his laptop, glaring at it. "Harlots don't have friends."

The air felt like it had been knocked from her lungs as she swallowed his low insult. "How can you say that to me?" she said, the words cracking over the knot in her throat.

"I can say it because it's _true,_" he sneered, his gaze unmoving. "You're no better than the rest of them."

She clenched her jaw, staring him down despite his hostile veneer. Who _was _this man? How _dare _he say such things to her? "You know what, Sheldon?" she began, pushing the laptop screen downward, "I'd come here wondering if I'd done the right thing; whether I shouldn't have signed the termination paperwork so swiftly and come to set things right. But now, when you're acting like this, I see that I _did _do the right thing—not for you, not for George, but for _me._"

In a flash, he was on his feet, towering above her despite their distance. "A selfish act in and of itself—"

"And you would know _all _about being selfish now, wouldn't you, Dr Cooper?" she retorted hotly, unable to control herself. "As far as I'm concerned, relationships are supposed to be about give and take, and all I have done is give—"

"You listen to me, Amy Farrah Fowler," he growled, rounding the desk to stand in front of her. "I have bent over backward _trying _for you, I have even _conceded _under some circumstances when I didn't want to—"

"You touched my chest of your own accord, Sheldon!" she cried, exasperated. "You _wanted _to do that—"

"I never wanted any of it!" he roared, throwing his hands up. "_Never!_"

She was shaking, she knew she was, as he stood above her, mere inches from her face. He was wild with anger, with _hatred, _and his raw emotion stunned her. This was a whole new Sheldon—a Sheldon who could lie to not only those around him, but to himself.

"Is everything alright, Dr Cooper?" a soft voice called from the doorway, and Sheldon's assistance, Alex, appeared with an armful of books. She gave an uncertain smile and raised her eyebrows. "I can come back later, if you would like…"

"It's fine," Amy said, the words coming out fiery and broken as she tossed the clothing onto Sheldon's desk roughly. "I was just leaving."

Turning her back on the stony physicist, she slipped past Alex and rushed for the exit, eyes burning ferociously. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how badly she wanted it to just _stop_, Sheldon's words continued to play over and over in her head.

If he never wanted it, what was the use in trying?

* * *

That evening, Sheldon rode home from work with Leonard in silence. His entire afternoon had been spent trying to make up the lost time _she _had wasted. The lost hours he had spent staring at his computer until his eyes felt numb, thinking about what he had said; what she had said. He could still see her standing in his doorway, clad in a grey tracksuit with her hair mussed around her face. She had thrown him from the moment she walked in—and now was no different.

They climbed the stairs in silence, and Leonard opened the apartment door with a clunk to allow them both inside. He would do everything in his power to forget the event ever happened; to _forget_, period. He would immerse himself in online gaming, or reading, or _anything _that would keep his mind busy but not compromise his work. Hanging his bag over his desk chair, he took a seat in his spot and turned on the television, flicking through the channels to find _something._

"_Why were they in my _apartment_? Beside my bed?"_

He groaned, and Leonard looked over from the fridge, giving him an odd look. "You alright?"

"Fine, thank you for asking," Sheldon replied automatically, squeezing his eyes closed. The scene had run through his mind over and over—jamming the lock-pick into the keyhole, moving into the darkness of her empty apartment, stumbling upon her bedroom, flicking through the novel on her side table, skimming his hands over the sheets, kicking off his shoes, slipping off his t-shirt, crawling onto _his _side…

The memory was blurred, but it was there. In his drunken state, he had wished to feel what it would be like to climb in beside her, to _practice _that common action. But, stupidly, he had left evidence behind; evidence that convicted him and caused a whole host of other problems.

"Sheldon," Leonard's voice interrupted, and he opened his eyes to find him sitting directly in front of him, perched on the edge of their coffee table. "You have hardly said a word to me in days—tell me what is going on. I know this break-up must be hard for you but you need to confide in someone—"

"Come now, Leonard," he said quickly, eager to avoid all traces of the conversation he was delving into. "You and I both know that there is absolutely nothing sanitary about your buttocks on the edge of our coffee table—who knows what kind of bacteria—"

"She didn't do it."

Sheldon ground his teeth and looked at his best friend. "What?"

"Amy," he said, and Sheldon darted his gaze away, feeling a grimace rise to his features as she mentioned her name. "I am telling you right now that she did not do it."

He snatched his mug from the coffee table and rose for the kitchen. "Do what?" he spat, pressing the button on the kettle and tossing a tea bag into his cup.

"You know exactly what, Sheldon!" Leonard said, following him. "I'm trying to help you here—"

"I don't need your help," he said, leaning against the counter and watching the water begin to bubble in the stainless steel chamber.

Leonard sighed, folding his hands over his chest. "Really? A man who managed to completely screw up an entire month's worth of condensed matter research 'doesn't need help'?"

Sheldon flinched. "How would you know?"

"The whole _university _knew; you were practically the laughing stock of—"

"No," he hissed, in almost perfect sync with the angry kettle beside him. "About _Amy."_

"Oh," Leonard said, clearly taken aback. "I spoke to her—she told me so myself."

For a moment, Sheldon continued to stare at the pot of boiling water, the water lapping over the capacity line. This information meant little—the woman was a liar. "That is hardly reliable information," he said coolly, filling his cup and adding sugar.

Leonard attempted to catch his eye, ducking near his beverage slightly. "Have you even let her explain herself? Or just jumped to conclusions like every other time?"

"She's a liar," Sheldon said bluntly, setting the teaspoon into his cup with a clink. "The evidence against her is incriminating enough."

"Well, I have heard otherwise," Leonard replied stubbornly, blocking his path out of the kitchen. "And I _also _heard, via the grapevine, that you made a right ass of yourself when you stumbled over to Amy's after Penny gave you a little too much to drink—"

Sheldon scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I was _hardly _intoxicated, Leonard…"

"It doesn't _matter, _Sheldon," he said slowly. "My point is that—for whatever reason due to whatever state you were in—you weren't seeing things clearly. Your judgement was compromised."

"Perhaps a mere simpleton like you would crumble under the effects of intoxication, but _I—"_

"So you _were _drunk, then?" Leonard raised an eyebrow cockily, smirking.

Sighing, Sheldon set his mug back onto the counter. _Of course _he was drunk. Would he have rolled about on her soft bed, burying his head into the pillows if he were sober? Cornered her, kissed her and touched her fiercely, without a second thought? Wandered the streets of Glendale at an ungodly hour, considering murdering his brother? Of course not.

Right?

He stared down at his drink, wrapping his fingers around the hot china as he chewed his lip. Perhaps Leonard _was _right—perhaps he needed someone to confide in; something to take away this…whatever it was. "Alcohol does bad things, Leonard," he murmured finally.

Leonard took a seat on the barstool adjacent, and nodded his head. "What actually happened?"

"I don't know!" he burst, nearly knocking over his tea. "I let myself into her apartment—"

"_Broke _into her apartment—"

Ignoring him, Sheldon continued. "And the next thing I knew she was there and I cornered her and…" he trailed off, hazy memories piling back into his brain at lightning speed.

"You can tell me, Sheldon," Leonard said gently, concern written all over his face as he leant his chin in the palm of his hand.

Sheldon eyed him carefully for a moment, contemplating his options. Could he tell him? "Did you know, Leonard, that—traditionally—the act of intertwining ones small finger with another's was considered as binding as a handshake when making a promise, and, if that promise were broken, the reneger would have to cut off his pinky finger?"

From across the counter, Leonard stared at him. "If that's your idea of asking for a pinky-swear then I can see why you didn't manage to keep anything on the down-low during elementary school."

Sheldon held out his small finger expectantly. "Do you want to be privy to this information or not?"

"Fine, I swear, whatever," Leonard huffed, linking his finger in return.

Swallowing, Sheldon returned his focus to the bench top before continuing. "Something came over me, Leonard, something…_primitive_," he sucked in a nervous breath, looking up to find Leonard's face frowning back at him. "I wanted to be authoritative; I wanted her to know that _I'm _the man in our relationship, and that meant that _I _call the shots…"

"Okay…"

"And then I _kissed her_," he whispered, closing his eyes. Admitting it out loud made his heart race, the memory of her soft lips pressed against his sending his body into meltdown. "I kissed her and touched her and was going to give her what she wanted, like Penny had suggested."

Leonard looked back at him with his mouth agape, and cleared his throat. "When you say 'what she wanted' you mean…?"

"Sex," Sheldon finished, unfazed. "But then _he _showed up and—"

"Back up for just a second," Leonard cut in, holding out a hand to silence him. "You're telling me that you felt something _primal _come over you when you had Amy in front of you, and then you kissed her?"

"Yes, but—"

"And you're _also _telling me that you were going to 'give her what _she _wanted' because Penny told you to do so?"

"That is what I said—"

"Sheldon," Leonard said sharply, "it sounds to me like this had nothing to do with what Penny told you to do or what Amy 'wanted' from you—you said it yourself; something came over you. You wanted it, too."

Sheldon blinked, attempting to process the words that he had mulled over himself for days. "Irrelevant," he dismissed finally. "George showed up to her apartment with her coat, stating that she had left it at _his _apartment that very evening."

Running a hand through his hair, Leonard sighed. "I know that George has interfered with your relationship with Amy, but she told me herself that she didn't do it, and I believe her," he said, meeting Sheldon's gaze. "You may have your fair share of troubles, but the least you could do is hear her out."

The stubborn streak that was etched into Sheldon's bones hardened. "It's too late now," he said, taking a long sip of his tea. In spite of his instincts, a part of him was begging to go to her, to hear her speak, and save what they'd lost. Apologise for his cruel words. Let her show him how wrong he was.

Could she?

* * *

"Right," Penny said, holding up a bottle of sparkling sweet wine as Amy opened her door. "You need to get out of this apartment—we're taking you out."

It was nearing eleven o'clock in the evening, and Amy stared at the two blondes standing in her doorway—dolled up and ready to go. She was _tired_, and had slept since her arrival home from her impromptu visit at Cal Tech; partying was low on her list of priorities. "I appreciate the sentiment, ladies, but I'm not feeling up to a girls' night out."

Bernadette huffed and pushed past, Penny in tow. "Amy, you have been moping around in this apartment all day, and we've come all the way over to make you feel better—now go find yourself something decent to throw on before we leave."

Closing the door, Amy turned and stared at her best friends. "You didn't have to do that—"

"Oh, shut it," Penny waved her hand dismissively, pouring the wine into three glasses and forcing one into her hand. "You need to get away from these troublesome Cooper boys—a girls' night out is _exactly _what you need."

"_Exactly,_" Bernadette agreed, taking a seat on her couch and crossing one slim leg over the other. "We can go to a bar, have a few drinks, perve on some of the hot guys—"

Penny giggled, ushering Amy over. "Bernadette!"

"None of them will be as sexy as my Howie, though," she gushed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Now come on—are you with us or not?"

After Amy had arrived home late that afternoon, she had laid in bed—yet again—wondering what was wrong with her. Could George's allure possibly be nothing more than an attractive face and a few charming words? Could she—if she tried hard enough—claim ignorance and blame it all on inexperience?

Or was George truly stealing her heart away from Sheldon, one piece at a time?

She bit her lip. Perhaps she _needed _this distraction. Perhaps she needed to go out on the town, spot herself a handsome man, and blame her attraction on nothing more than sexual magnetism. Perhaps that would prove that George meant nothing more than that, and that Sheldon meant so much more.

"Ames?" Penny's voice coached her out of her musings, eyeing her worriedly.

Sheldon didn't want her, and he never had—that was now more evident that ever before. Lies or not. _She _had signed the paperwork, _she _had made this bed, and now she had to lay in it—she had to back her decision until she understood otherwise. "Sorry," she said vaguely, and threw down almost the entire glass of wine without a breath. "Let's go."

* * *

A long, late shift had rolled by once again, and as he stepped out into the cool night air, he checked his phone for the umpteenth time that evening. Still nothing. He tugged his jacket further around his body and jammed his hands into his pockets, trailing down the footpath until he neared his apartment. The streets were quiet, scattered with a few shift workers and the sound of a bar thudding music close by. Keeping his head low, he stared at the pavement, his mind filled with thoughts of _her_.

It had taken all of his strength to avoid contacting her—to keep the distance and let her realise the obvious truth about their abnormal relationship. Even now, as he approached the lobby doors of his apartment building, he could still feel the way her curvaceous form fitted into his body; the way his arms wrapped all the way around her without even trying. The way it felt _so good _to protect her; to be her saviour, too.

Punching in his access code, he made his way up the stairs. The old building—cold and corporate—smelt dusty and stale, and offered him no solitude as a home should. He threw open his heavy apartment door and slipped inside, falling onto his messy mattress with a thud. Within seconds, he felt a buzz from his pocket, and shifted to pull out the cell phone. The name that lit up his screen was one he hadn't thought of in weeks, one he hadn't expected to see ever again. _Clara._

_Where you hiding these days, stranger?_

He stared at it, clenching his jaw. What possible purpose could she have messaging him? What scheme had she decided upon this time? Scowling, he threw the phone across the makeshift bed and ran a hand over his rough cheeks. What he needed was a peaceful night's sleep—perhaps if he thought about Amy just once more…straddling his hips and looking into his eyes…he would sleep far better…

Next to him, his phone began to ring and he snatched it up without checking the caller. "Clara, I'm not interested in your bullshit—"

"Clara?" a familiar voice giggled on the other end, sending his stomach into knots. "It's _Amy._"

He sat up, detangling himself from the mess of his linen. "Amy?" he asked, and then frowned. "Why are you calling me so late?"

"Oh, no reason," she chirped on the other end, and it dawned on him that her voice was raised over a beat in the background. "I was calling to tell you that you were wrong about what you said, George."

It didn't take much for him to recognise the slurred, airy sound of a woman's drunken voice, and he was on his feet in a second, collecting his apartment keys. "Where are you, Ames?"

"You were wrong because I can conclusively say that there are _plenty _of sexy men in this bar I would have my way with in a second," she said, and he heard the music grow louder. "You kept trying to tell me there was something special between us, but you were _wrong._"

Flinging sheets and clothing across the room, George finally found his keys and thrust them into his pocket, heading for the door. "I can tell you right now, Amy, that _you're _the one who's wrong," he said, rushing down the stairs. "Now, _where are you?_"

* * *

Going out for a girls' night had been the best idea _ever._

The booth they had picked sat right in the far back corner of the bar, traced with warm neon lights and padded with red leather. Cocktail after cocktail, laugh after laugh, the trio had spent their night doing exactly what they needed to do—letting go.

Amy leant her head against her hand lazily, giggling as Penny tried to con her into yet another turn on the dance floor. "Come on, bestie," she whined, swaying her hips at the edge of the table, "just one more dance?"

Across from her, Bernadette sent her a sly grin. "Yeah, come on, Ames—just _one _more, you can go rub against that fella you like…"

The bar, mere feet from her, was beginning to blur, but she smirked at the blonde man behind the counter, who was drying off a glass with his eyes fixed on her. "Nah…"

"He's already shouted you, what, three drinks? I'm sure he'd love a dance before the night was over!" Penny shouted as the music drowned her out.

Her eyes were heavy, her feet were unsteady, and she'd already made one too many phone calls in her state. "Sorry, girls—one last trip to the restroom and you can call us a cab."

"Fine," Penny said dejectedly, and then reached out a hand to the teeny strawberry blonde next to her. "Come on, Bernie, let's dance!"

Amy slipped out from behind the booth, standing slowly and pulling her shoulders back. If the fair bartender was going to stare her down, she was _not _going to wind up on her ass—under any circumstances. She crossed the room, and the dark bar blurred slightly as she pushed through to the harshly lit bathroom, facing herself for the first time that night. Cocking her head, she stared at the woman looking back at her in the grimy mirror—reddened lips, unwashed hair in a messy ponytail, and sad, weary eyes were the only things she could see.

"_Harlots don't have friends."_

She splashed water across her face, ignoring Sheldon's voice as it echoed in her head all over again. Her head was _pounding_, and she raised a hand to over her eyes barricade herself from the harsh light. Within seconds, she felt ill—a cold sweat rolling over her body and black spots appearing in her hazy vision. The cold tiles were suddenly underneath her back, and she felt herself slipping, struggling to keep her eyes open.

"_I never wanted any of it!"_

Vaguely, she heard a voice calling her name, and she cracked open her eyes to see a tall, brunette figure hovering over her, cradling her neck. It was _him_; he was here. "Sheldon…" she murmured, before allowing her eyes to close once more.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Yay, another chapter! Thank you all for the support on my last instalment, it was great to get some feedback later in the piece as I wasn't terribly chuffed with the immediate response (perhaps I upset more people…entirely possible!), so I'm hoping for a better response this time around. That said, no, things have not improved for our wonderful couple…but you've just gotta trust me, it's not all doom and gloom. Enjoy, read and be sure to review…it makes me update quicker, I promise!

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

Three gangly teens watched on from the stairwell, heads jammed between the bars of the railing as they watched the scene unfold. Bedtime had well and truly passed, but in the dim lighting of the hallway, hidden in the shadows above, they were protected.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Mary, I'm sorry!" his voice was raw, booming from the entry below, where he knelt on the worn floral rug. He stunk of late-night booze and cigarettes, and a sickly-sweet perfume that stung their nostrils.

She pointed at the door for the second time, tears streaking her reddened cheeks. "I told you George, if you want to act like a dog, you can sleep with one," she stomped her slippered foot for effect. "Out!"

In the middle, he leant over to his elder brother, who had snuck in only moments earlier through a suitably hanging branch outside his bedroom window. "Do you think he is really sorry, George?" he whispered.

"Please, Mary, I am sorry!"

On his other side, his twin sniffled and drew her bony knees in toward her chest, tightening herself into a ball. A tear slipped over the brim and bled into the fabric of her pink nightie, disappearing, like everything else.

Was this any different? Because he was down on his knees, begging for forgiveness?

_Again? _

"I told you: out!"

Sheldon gripped his hands around the beams, peering down as his father fell forward after his mother, the flask of alcohol toppling from his hand and spilling golden liquid across the floor. No, he couldn't truly be sorry—he never would be.

George's gaze hardened, his jaw set, like he'd seen it all before. Like he knew what it was like to fall. "Yeah," he said weakly, quietly. "I really think he is."

* * *

Colours, whizzing past her eyes, bursting and bleeding across her vision.

Loud voices, screaming in her ears, pounding over the music.

Spicy cologne, filling her nostrils, making her head spin.

Arms, cradling her weak form, hoisting her closer.

Cold air, hitting her fiery cheeks, sucking the breath from her lungs.

Jingling keys, clunking into a lock, letting her inside.

Pillows, capturing her as she sunk into their embrace, swallowing her whole.

Buttons, popping open, freeing her languid body.

Sapphire eyes, peering down at her, burning into her soul.

Hands, guiding her, pushing her away.

_Him, _saving her, damning her.

* * *

_Alex stood in the doorway, pressing her lips together and staring at the physicist wide-eyed. "Is everything alright, Dr Cooper?"_

_He gazed at the seared spot she had left behind, leaving a fire in her wake. It required every ounce of concentration to tear his eyes away; to force his legs to return to his desk and sit down. "Everything is…" he began, his mouth dry, and looked up at his assistant. "Not okay."_

"_Oh," the brunette stumbled awkwardly in the doorway, her expression changing quickly as she threw aside her stack of paperwork and made her way over to him. She opened her mouth once, twice, to speak, before anything of value came out. "Was that your girlfriend?"_

"_Former," he breathed, because he couldn't bring himself to use the phrase 'ex'. _

_Gingerly, Alex steered a desk chair over and sat across from him. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said slowly, and furrowed her brow. "There seemed to be quite a commotion, do you need me to contact Dr Hofstadter?"_

_The pile of crumpled clothing, strewn across his desk, spoke volumes. "That will not be necessary," he said, running a hand over his forehead wearily._

"_Alright," she said, and there was a moment's silence before she spoke again. "May I ask what happened?"_

"_Is that _all _they teach you at Stanford, how to delve into other people's personal affairs?" he snapped, looking at her sharply._

_Alex sighed and gave him a tight-lipped smile before standing to leave. "I'll have that spread sheet to you by the end of the day, Dr Cooper," she said, collecting her bookwork._

_Sheldon watched her go, and words left his tongue before she could leave the room. "I couldn't give her what she wanted."_

_Turning back from the doorway, she tilted her head. "So you _do _want to talk about it?" she asked uneasily._

"_Don't get cocky," he replied, and she took a seat once again. Taking a deep breath, he started again. "I find myself struggling to find reputable sources to reference during this hardship."_

_She blinked at him. "What?"_

_He wrung his hands in his lap. Perhaps she _was _the ideal candidate to help him with his dilemma. "Never mind," he said. "As I was saying, I wasn't able to give Amy what she wanted in a relationship."_

"_And that would be…?"_

_Cheeks flushing, he ducked his head and spoke quietly. "Sex."_

_There was a small part of him that expected her to laugh, but instead she frowned. "So the rumours that were spread about your relationship by Dr Kripke were…?"_

"_Utter codswallop, yes," he said, and toyed with a pen on the desk nearby. "I was never in favour of a physical relationship."_

"_That does not surprise me," Alex mumbled, but skipped over the comment quickly. "Okay, well, did Amy understand that you didn't want a physical relationship?"_

_That was a mighty good question—recent evidence suggesting that he felt otherwise. "Well, I believe so—"_

"_And Amy still wanted a physical relationship, whilst you didn't?" she queried._

"_Yes, but—"_

_The petite woman crossed one leg over the other, leaning forward. "So let me get this straight," she said. "You didn't want a 'physical relationship', whilst your girlfriend did, but you expected her to stay with you regardless?"_

_It was his turn to frown. "I never _expected _her to stay with me—"_

_She held out a hand to silence him, a slight smile on her face. "No, no—no need to justify—just clarifying the facts," she said. "So, then what happened?"_

_His thoughts wandered back to his older brother, pinning her on a grassy field with armour on, and he squeezed the pen in his fingertips. "My brother decided to pay a visit to California and this caused some…tension."_

"_She was attracted to him?" _

_He nodded. "It would seem so," he said. "And he to her…that bogus, small-minded mongrel…"_

"_Okay," she said, and he pressed his lips, attempting to contain his anger. "Well, Dr Cooper, without _prying _into your personal life any further, it would seem that you have given up too easily."_

_His gaze snapped up to her. "What do you mean?"_

_She shrugged. "It's obvious that you made an unrealistic call expecting her to stand by you when your wants for the relationship were different, but—given the observant assistant I am—I notice that you used the past tense."_

_Now the woman was just fooling around. "What on earth are you talking about?"_

"'_I _was _never in favour of a physical relationship'," she parroted, and Sheldon felt his stomach drop. "It would seem that your desires have changed."_

_He gaped at her momentarily, preparing to strike back and prove her wrong, but the words simply wouldn't form. "I—um—"_

"_I may not know you very well, Dr Cooper, but I think I can deduce from the time we have spent together that you are not one for losing," Alex folded her hands in her lap and stared at him. "What's stopping you now?"_

_She was right—he wasn't one to give up on a fight. But this was _different_; this was _Amy_—he couldn't have the emotional turmoil turning his mind upside down for any longer than necessary. "I can't…" he started hoarsely, and then bit his lip._

"_Perhaps you need to remind her _why _she fell for you in the first place—perhaps you need to prove yourself and win her back," the young woman smiled brightly at him. "It's clear that you're in love with her."_

_The word made his heart thump. "Love?" he scoffed, suddenly very able to find his voice. "Love is for hippies and teenage girls—"_

_Alex was already out of her seat and making her way to the door. "I'll have that spread sheet to you by the end of the day, Dr Cooper."_

Sheldon groaned and pulled the pillow over his face for the fourteenth time that night, the memory of his afternoon chat with Alex still haunting him at nearly three in the morning. The ceiling fan whirred above him, blustering hot air around his cluttered bedroom, and his sheets were roped around his legs. If he didn't get to sleep sometime soon, he would surely be a mess for the day ahead…

"Darn it, Cooper," he growled at himself, the words muffled by his pillow. Sighing, he tossed it aside and stared at the roof.

He _wasn't _a loser. And he _wasn't _in love. And Amy _wasn't _worth the heartache. He just had to focus on his work, and forget her. Simple as that.

But, if that were so simple, why did he keep coming back to what Alex had said?

_Had _he expected something unrealistic of his girlfriend; to be with a man who—potentially—would never wish to pursue a physical relationship? Or had she barely given him a chance, jumping at his brother at the first chance she had?

Were they _both _wrong?

And then there was Leonard—who had cornered him and forced him to confess to his outburst at her apartment and nearly admit defeat. Who had told him that Amy was innocent, and to give her another chance. How could she possibly be given another chance after all she had done?

_How could _you_? _A voice echoed in the back of his mind.

Tugging his blue sheets up beneath his chin, he curled his lanky body into a ball and sulked. Perhaps his father was right—perhaps women truly were nothing more than pains in the asses.

"_Leonard!_" A familiar, giggling female voice sounded from the hallway, followed by a round of heavy footsteps.

"_Will you shut up? You're going to wake Sheldon…"_ Leonard's voice whispered, and a sharp thud followed. _"Are you joking? Get up!"_

Growling, Sheldon flicked aside his covers and stomped to his door, flinging it open. "Do you mind?" he said aggressively, glaring at the blonde who was sprawled on their hallway floor.

"Hi, Sheldon!" Penny beamed up at him, and he noticed she was missing a high-heel.

Leonard groaned and held up the mislaid shoe. "Sorry, Sheldon," he said, bending down to gather up his drunk girlfriend. "Penny, Amy and Bernadette went out dancing and got a few too many drinks into them…"

"Oh, we went dancing!" she reiterated, laughing as Leonard dragged her toward his bedroom. "It was so much fun…until Amy got sick and had to be taken home…"

Sheldon clenched his jaw, holding the doorframe tightly in his hand as he decided whether he should enquire about her wellbeing or go back to bed. "Amy was ill?" he said casually, padding down the hall behind them.

"Yep!" she said loudly, throwing herself unceremoniously onto Leonard's bed. "Think she drank a _little _much and passed out in the restrooms—Leonard, I feel so bad for leaving her there…"

"You _left _her there?" Sheldon snapped, looking between the couple.

Leonard looked up briefly from unbuckling Penny's other heel. "Of course we didn't leave her there—this was like an hour ago, before I arrived—"

"George came and got her," Penny said, and instantly slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oops…"

Sheldon stiffened. "I see," he said quietly and retreated back to his room. Somewhere, Amy was an intoxicated, sick mess, and _George _had rescued her. Somewhere, she was making all kinds of drunken mistakes, and _George _was taking advantage of that.

"You okay?" Leonard said from behind him softly.

No, he was _not _okay. He should not have cared. He should have been climbing back into bed and resting peacefully. He should be _done _with this. "I need you to take me to her, Leonard."

* * *

Christ, she was so damn _beautiful _like this.

He placed her onto his mattress, into the mess of fluffy pillows and sheets and clothing, and brushed the hair from her face, slipping off her glasses. Staring up at him bleary-eyed, she smiled, and he knew the alcohol-induced haze was fading. He'd seen it all before.

In a streak of pure luck, he had found her at a local bar, collapsed in the women's restrooms in a bundle of tears. He remembered his breath quickening as he cradled her neck and slipped a hand under her knees, lifting her off the grimy tiles and carrying her away from it all. Her bloodshot eyes had looked up at him, whispering the name of the one person he'd never matched up to.

"I cannot believe you would do this to yourself," he found himself saying, scolding her. "Do you have any idea how you could have been hurt? Or taken advantage of?"

He felt frustration rising in his chest as he sat beside her; the need to protect her stronger than ever before. If her friends weren't going to look out for her, and neither was Sheldon, then _he _had to. And it was lucky he'd been the one she'd called.

"George?" she said airily, looking at him with clearer eyes. She frowned, and squinted her electric eyes. Was she seeing him, or seeing Sheldon?

Did it matter?

"Yeah," he confirmed, smirking and swiping a rough finger over her cheek. Sheldon had his chance. _Many _chances. And he had blown them all. Couldn't he have this chance; this one chance?

She swallowed and sat up slowly, looking around the apartment. "Why am I at your apartment?"

"Because you weren't in any condition to make it home to yours," he said honestly, reaching for a cup of water and holding it to her lips. She eyed him suspiciously, a glint of curiosity below her long eyelashes, before taking a small sip. Pulling it away, he ground his teeth at the shimmer of water remaining on her bottom lip, which she swiped away with her tongue in the blink of an eye. _Dammit._

There was a moment of silence as Amy continued to stare at him, her tipsy gaze wandering down his chest to his legs and up again. "Thank you, then," she said finally.

Gulping, he shifted his eyes away from her gaping blouse to the long, uncovered windows of his apartment, specks of rain blurring the city lights. "Why did you do this, Amy?" he asked.

She took a long breath and shuffled on the mattress. "Because I wanted to prove you wrong," she said, and he could still feel her eyes burning a hole in him. Her voice was light and carefree, still laced with the effects of alcohol. "I wanted to find a man who was just as handsome as you and kill this…whatever it is…"

George looked over to her again. He knew this feeling; he'd felt it hundreds of times before. "Then why did you end up in my bed?"

Blushing, she lowered her eyes and smiled coyly. "I don't know," she said.

"Maybe it's a sign," he said boldly, and she bit her lip. "I can tell you one thing: you're not going out in this weather—stay."

It wasn't a question, it was a demand, but whether he meant for another hour, or the night, or his entire life, he wasn't sure. Amy didn't respond; instead attempted to kick off her flats with little success. "Let me help you," he chuckled, and moved in front of her to tug them off.

"You don't have to—" she began, before swaying and bringing a hand to her forehead. Acting on instinct, he leant forward to steady her and laid her back gently. "You okay?"

She nodded, and it was only then that he realised she'd drawn him down with her; when he could feel her breath on his cheek. "See what you do to me?" she said softly.

He had her—she was right there. There were only inches and air between them as he hovered over her. It was his turn. "I could do a lot more," he whispered back, tracing her jaw with one finger. Her skin was hot and smooth to the touch, and he heard her take a shaky breath. "Let me show you."

_Please, please let me show you._

It was her turn now. He saw the hesitance cross over her emerald eyes as she drew her hand along his shirt, over his chest, and he swore electricity sparked from her fingers. The action, so minor, caused him to growl, and he almost missed the tiny nod that gave him permission to show her what he had to give. "Okay," she whispered.

_Finally._

In one swift motion, he crashed his lips against hers and felt a fire erupt in the pit of his stomach, lapping at his insides. She was soft and uncertain and _perfect_, and despite her hesitance, pressed back against him with matching ferocity. Her hand grasped at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him deeper into a kiss that had seemed so unattainable for so long. A moan hummed against his lips as he teased her with his tongue, and he broke away to look at her as she fiddled with her blouse between them. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he said hoarsely, mesmerised by her swollen mouth and reddened cheeks.

She panted a little, staring up at him with dark eyes. Her fingers were undoing each button slowly, and the sheer top was parted to reveal the trim of a jade-coloured bra. He could hardly tear his eyes away, her innocence and insecurity driving him wild. Instead, he buried his lips against the vein in her neck, biting her flesh and grinning as she let out a gasp, arching her back. "I have thought about this _so much, _Amy," he murmured. "Thought about all the things I want to do with you…_to _you…"

Sitting perfectly between her open legs, he followed the line of her body, down to the dips of her collarbones and along the hump of her breast, peppering kisses on her pale skin. The lace of her bra stopped him, and he pulled back, tracing the edging with a finger. She was trembling under him, and staring back with such intensity that he thought he may burst into flames. There was nothing for her to compare him to; she was a blank, pure slate. "I can show you a world you never knew existed," he whispered, and pinched her nipple roughly through the fabric of her padded bra.

This time she cried out, and he kissed her again, harder this time, moving with her quickly. He ground his erection against her, running a hand over her thigh and gathering her skirt around her hips. Pressing against him feverishly, lost in lust, she latched her hand around the buckle of his belt and tugged purposefully.

"Stop," he mumbled gruffly, snatching her wrists away and pinning them on either side of her head. She yelped at his force, and peered up at him inquisitively. He wanted her so badly, but something was telling him to stop, and to go, all at once…

"George…" she murmured huskily, twitching her hands against his grasp. He pushed back, sinking her dainty arms into the pillows. "Maybe we should—"

She stiffened below him, her gaze snapping to the door, and her face paled. Without looking, he knew his brother was there, looming in the doorway he had deliberately left open. "What are you doing here, Sheldon?" George said tersely, keeping his eyes on Amy.

There was silence, and he could feel the tension and heat in the room boiling under the surface. Huffing, he looked toward him and raised his eyebrows. The lanky physicist was a mere silhouette in the entry, brooding and glassy-eyed. Seeing that look on his face—a miserable anger—almost hurt him. _Almost.  
_

* * *

It was like a car wreck. All he wanted to do was pull his eyes away, wish he'd never seen the contorted faces and twisted limbs and heard the painful whispers of ecstasy, but he couldn't.

The room felt like it was swimming, and he could have sworn his vision took on a whole new shade of red. He could feel his nails cutting into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists, staring at the very image he had been denying _for her _all this time.

On George's messy mattress, in the stormy moonlight, Amy laid, legs parted and lips locked with his brother. She looked giddy with her blouse torn open, as uninhibited and flushed as he had seen her once before on her own, with her wrists pinned beside her head; his body between her legs. Sheldon could feel his chest tightening, his head pounding, and his knees weakening.

"What are you doing here, Sheldon?" he heard, but the only eyes looking at him were _hers, _and he didn't want to see them anymore. Didn't want to see _any _of it.

George rose away from Amy and pushed himself off the mattress, glowering at him. "You shouldn't be here."

"And neither should you," Sheldon hissed in response finally, still watching Amy. No amount of self-control would reduce the storm that was coming; building in his aching chest. "I cannot believe that you would—"

"Oh save it, Sheldon," George snapped, approaching him. "Amy is a grown woman, she can do as she pleases—"

"I came to find you!" he bellowed at her, ignoring his brother. His eyes felt hot and stung, but he didn't care. "I came to make sure you were unharmed after you drank yourself into oblivion at some skeazy bar, came to hear what you had to say for yourself—"

"_I _was the one who found her—I was there for her—"

He wasn't done, not even close. "And it should have been _me_, not this disgusting excuse for a man—"

"You weren't fucking there, Sheldon!" George roared. "Like all the other times you weren't there! This is _your _fault! You pushed her away, forced her out, and I was the one to pick up the goddamn pieces!"

Suddenly he could see his mother on the porch of their creamy Texan home, a black, sobbing blur in his brother's arms. _You weren't here, _he had said to him, through clenched teeth. _You never really were. _

"And now you're angry because she chose _me,_" George continued, towering over him with his arms folded over his unbuttoned shirt. "I can give her everything—"

He shifted, connecting eyes with Amy, who was hauling herself up shakily and pulling on her shoes. "I came here because I actually thought you were telling the truth, how could you do this to me?"

"What the hell, Sheldon?" came Leonard's frustrated voice from beside him, panting. "You cannot just run off like that, I told you I would find out if Amy was here and—"

His shorter best friend frowned, looking between the irate brothers and George's dishevelled condition, and across to Amy, who was as white as a ghost. "Amy," he said worriedly, and rushed to help her, slinging an arm under her shoulders for support. The apartment was quiet as he escorted the uneasy brunette out, and glared at the siblings. "Shame on you, George, for not taking her home, and shame on _you, _Sheldon, for making this any harder than it had to be."

He stalked past and into the hallway, and Sheldon gave his brother one final glare before storming out. The door slammed behind him, and it echoed in his head until he could hear nothing else.

* * *

The car ride to Amy's apartment was uncomfortably quiet, and Sheldon, stony-faced, next to Leonard in the front without saying a word. What his odd friend had seen in his brother's apartment was still a mystery, but something told Leonard that it did nothing to aid Amy's innocence.

On the whole, the situation he had been so swiftly dragged into irritated him, and he struggled to find sympathy for his friend at this late—or, rather, early—hour. "I told you that _I _was going to see if Amy was at George's and _you _were going to stay in the car, but no, you just had to run ahead and—"

"Just drop it, Leonard," Sheldon said darkly, staring out the window blankly.

"Fine," he finished. Amy sat in the back seat, drifting in and out of sleep, sobering considerably but presumably feeling ill. He had grown to like Amy a lot, she made their group complete—giving Sheldon a mate and Penny a best friend—however her judgement that night was far from perfect, creating a war within itself.

"Did you ever think, Sheldon, that maybe you just need to let Amy do what she's gotta do in all of this?" he said quietly, glancing away from the swiping windscreen wipers collecting the rain and clearing his view of the dim road. "This was her first experience with a boyfriend too, and to not have that guy reciprocate her physical feelings would be tough—"

He had truly been going somewhere with his tired train of thought, but Sheldon chopped him short. "I said drop it, Leonard."

Quietening, he stole a glance at Amy in the rear vision mirror, noticing her head turn toward them. Her eyes were open slightly, and he gave her a small smile. "You okay, Ames?"

It was clear she didn't register his question, and her head lolled to one side, eyeing the back of Sheldon's form. "Who's Clara?" she asked quietly.

Leonard looked to Sheldon, who blanched, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "Ask George," he said coldly, and went straight back to looking out the window.

By the time they reached Amy's apartment block, the rain was pouring viciously and Leonard intended to help her up to her home with no trouble from his seething friend. He pulled the car in out the front and turned off the ignition. "Alright, Amy, let's get you inside—"

Sheldon was out of the car before he was, opening Amy's door. He bent down on the shiny, wet sidewalk, bringing himself to her height where she sat, motionless. Leonard hopped out slowly and rounded the car, watching him. Heavy rain hit Sheldon's face, plastering his fine hair to his forehead and dampening his clothes. He swallowed sharply and looked directly into Amy's eyes. "This is the last time I do anything for you," he said over the pound of the water on concrete, and supported her out of the car.

Shocked, Leonard fumbled from his spot and took the tired girl from Sheldon's side. "I think I should do this, Sheldon," he said softly, and Sheldon said nothing, simply drifting back to the car in the rain.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Hi all! Another chapter here for you...and I would apologise about the delay, but I know that's just getting old now. Anyway, this is yet another emotional chapter (I know, *tear*) but we're just getting into the good stuff now! Be sure to enjoy and review, you know I love to hear your feedback...even if this story is ripping out your insides...no one else will do it but me...haha.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

The teeny home smelt of spicy pine needles and hot gingerbread, wafting thick and strong from the cosy kitchen around the corner. Eyes closed tight, he melted deeper into the spongy couch, dotted with faded daisies, as the fire hissed quietly alongside him. His long legs dangled lazily over the armrest, and he tapped his foot to the gentle hum of the festive blues crooning in his ear.

Her little gingerbread home came with _all _the trimmings. Like the fairy-tale he'd never had.

In front of his closed eyes, he knew the wallpaper was thinning and peeling away, stained yellow with years of wear. The floorboards were scuffed and lacked shine, and the curtains hung lifelessly in tattered pink, tied with gold tassels. He thought it made the sitting area look antique; like a vintage painting of the perfect living room, with flower arrangements and family photos and knitting needles and crochet doilies.

A painting he would be depicted in, swished in oil colours, wearing a peaceful smile and holding a book in his hand.

He felt her presence before he peered through his sleepy eyes, the lace of her apron tickling his leg as she slipped by. "My, my, Moonpie," she cooed, raspy and wise. "You are being a lazy young man on this fine evening, aren't you?"

She could talk to him forever like that—caress his weary mind with that husky tone.

"Mmm," he agreed half-heartedly, a smirk tugging at his lips. He didn't care; she would never judge him, not in this home, not now. Flashes of coloured light blinked over her form from the tall tree in the corner, casting a glow over her silhouette, and—for a moment—he thought he saw the Virgin Mary.

"Have a gingerbread man, Shelly dear," she said softly, her red wrinkled lips stretching into a kind smile as she passed him a man-shaped biscuit, fresh off the warm tray. He returned the smile, gazing up at her silvery hair, spirals tumbling from her messy bun that was knotted at the base of her neck, and her hazel eyes, sparkling behind round-rimmed glasses.

"Thanks, Meemaw," he said softly, wedging the textbook in his arms between his lanky body and the couch and taking a bite out of the crumbly treat.

A knock sounded at the front door, unexpected at such a late hour. His grandmother placed down her tray on the coffee table and tugged off her oven mitts, making her way over to the entrance and swinging the door open wide. "Junior?" he heard her say, and craned his neck to observe the unannounced arrival of his older brother. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

In a heartbeat, he knew something was wrong.

Time seemed to move slowly as he flung himself from the couch, watching the pages turn through the climax—the _disaster—_of their fairy-tale. George's reddened eyes, bloodied hands, the way his voice cracked as he said her name. Meemaw's paled face, shaking frail frame, the way she cried and swayed into her grandson's embrace.

"Pop-pop…"

The hallway wall caught him before he hit the ground, cold and unseeing.

His painting, his perfect picture, had been splashed with red and torn up the middle—a horrific, abstract piece that ended his last fairy-tale.

* * *

God, her _everything _hurt.

The sun—the friendly devil it was that Sunday morning—was blaring through her venetian blinds and burned her eyelids, and she felt the throbbing pain of a hangover deep in her skull. Wrenching a hand over her face, she cracked open an eye and peered around the room. What _time _was it?

Slowly, Amy sat up, finding her bed pillow-less and her body donning the same clothing she had stepped out in the night before, shoes included. She swallowed, finding her throat full of sand, and sipped at a glass of water placed on her nightstand. What on _earth _had happened last night?

Stumbling to her feet, she felt herself sway, and a myriad of images came fluttering back. A dimly lit, seedy bar, a blonde boy with a crooked smile sliding her a cocktail, her girlfriends' giggly laughs, the stark white of the bathroom…

"Oh no," she groaned, racing for the bathroom and crashing to her knees in front of the toilet, dry retching violently. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, and she could feel the gritty flakes of mascara stinging her eyes. She groaned again, sitting back against the shower frame. A tall, brunette figure with vivid cerulean eyes had swept her away from her troubles, and carried her home…but not to her home.

It still wasn't clear, but it was there—George's comfortable mattress beneath her tender body, his cheeky smirk, and then his body over hers, between her legs. His lips, his _tongue_ had warred with her own, his stubble had grazed her cheeks, her neck, as he kissed her over and over. He had pressed himself against her roughly, touched her breasts, before he had denied her the opportunity to be with him, completely. _Why?_

She felt her heart leap into her throat, and licked her lips consciously. "Shit," she murmured, the swear feeling foreign on her tongue. She recalled Sheldon, looming in the doorway, and then she recalled shouting, raised voices yelling accusations her way.

What had she allowed to happen?

What had she _done? _

The last she remembered, tired and hazy, was a long car ride home, and Sheldon's dark eyes staring back at her while raindrops fell on her cheeks. Somehow, she had made it up to her apartment, and into her bed, safely.

What a mess.

Unsteadily, she peeled away her clothing from the evening before until she stood nude in front of the steaming shower stream, cradling her head in her hands. She stepped under, and the water scolded her skin, but she didn't care.

Perhaps it was what she deserved.

Leaning her head against the cool tiles, she wrapped her arms around her torso and slumped slightly, trying to relieve her aching muscles. _George _had been the one to sweep her up off the floor, to find her at her most vulnerable, but was his rescue truly welcome? And why had Sheldon shown up at his door, after everything they'd been through?

Trailing a finger over her bottom lip, she thought of George; the kisses he had bestowed upon her, the opportunity he had turned down. A light shiver tickled at her spine at the thought of his broad body hovering over her, marvelling at _her _body, struggling to resist…

This wasn't just a mess. This was a _disaster. _

But it was what she had wanted, wasn't it? All this time, she had resisted like he had, contemplated her astonishing attraction to him, attempted to solidify her alliance to Sheldon. She had gotten what she wanted, but now—after it was said and done—it felt so…_wrong. _

_But it didn't feel so wrong last night…_

Growling, she drowned herself under the jet, letting the water soak through her long hair. And then there was _Sheldon. _Constantly there; consistently and perfectly in the way. Despite her intoxicated state, the memory of his face—contorted with hurt and anger—was burnt into her mind. There were words he had coldly told her in the rain, but they eluded her completely—her only recollection being the hard tone he spoke to her in.

A muffled thud was echoing against the wall behind her, and she frowned, listening closely. Someone was at her door, knocking repeatedly, but her priority lay elsewhere. She couldn't face _herself _in that moment, let alone anyone else.

"Amy!" she could hear being called, the deep bass of a male voice. "Open up!"

What would she do now—avoid them both? Begin a rocky courtship with her ex-boyfriend's brother? Beg for Sheldon's forgiveness and to take her back?

And continue to pretend as though George didn't exist?

She could have him now, in an instant, if she wanted to be that selfish. If she wanted to pursue the adolescent streak that she lacked in her youth; fulfil desires and gain the adoration she had longed for.

But really all she wanted, right then, was to huddle up for a spirited round of Counterfactuals, and a hot cup of tea.

"Amy!" the voice insisted, louder than before. "Please!"

Slamming the water off, she hopped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, hair glued in wet tendrils to her shoulders. She stomped out of the bathroom and straight over to the front door, wrenching it open. "What?" she snapped, before meeting the eyes of George Cooper.

His eyes swept over her barely covered form, skin dripping and red, and squeezed his eyes closed. "Amy, I don't know if you remember anything from last night, but I am _so _sorry—"

"How _dare_ you?" she roared, feeling her body ignite with anger as she looked over his mussed caramel hair and perfect lips.

"Amy, listen, please—"

"How dare you come here!" she continued, stepping beneath his tall frame. "How could you _do _that to me, George? How could you—"

"I made a mistake—"

Her rage remained steady, marked by the searing pain behind her eyes. "You took advantage of me!" she yelled, her voice cracking. "I was _drunk _and you saw that as a perfect opportunity to try and have your way with me—"

He grasped her slender wrists that were flying in front of his face and looked down at her, his face intense. "I know, and that was beyond wrong—please, let me in, I want to apologise—"

"Don't!" she cried, snatching her arms away. "I knew from the moment I met you that you were trouble, but I never doubted for a second that I couldn't _trust_ you!"

"Ames, _please_," he said quietly, meeting her eyes. "You can trust me—I would never, _ever _hurt you, and when you said yes I just lost control—I've wanted you for so long, you're like a drug to me—"

"No, don't say those words to me," she said, her voice still raised. Every time he told her how badly he wanted her, how beautiful she was, how _irresistible _she was to him, made it even harder for her to make the right choice. "You know what, George, yes—I said _yes _to you, and I wanted you too—hell, I still do, but you took advantage of a decision I made when I was completely inebriated—"

"I'm sorry Amy—please, just listen to me—there's so much I need to tell you, I want you to _know _me, everything—"

She couldn't hear him any longer. Grabbing the doorframe, she looked directly into his sapphire eyes. "Just go."

With that, she slammed the door in his face. Her headache was blinding, thumping with every breath she took, and it was taking every ounce of her strength not to burst into tears. Perching on the edge of her couch, she tugged the fluffy towel around her bust a little tighter and felt a sob take hold of her throat. _This is as much my fault as it is his._

The jingle of her cell phone rang out from her kitchen bench, and she padded over to check it. There were numerous missed calls from both Penny and Bernadette, a text message from Penny, as well as a recently received message from George. She opened Penny's first.

_Ames, _it read,_ I feel terrible about leaving you alone last night—I'm so sorry. Leonard got you home from George's at the end of the night, with Sheldon. Call me as soon as you get this—I need to talk to you. Xx_

Well, that explained one minor mystery of the evening prior—but why had Sheldon and Leonard gone to get her at all? Pursing her lips, she stared at George's long message, deciding whether to open it or delete it forever.

_I know you're angry, you have every right to be. What happened last night was not okay, and I'm sorry, more sorry than you can imagine. But I want you to know that something told me to stop, even though kissing you felt like the most perfect thing in the world. I want you with me more than anything, I want you to know everything about me—you make me feel whole. Please know that I'm sorry._

She gazed at the message, reading it over and over. He had a way of making her want to gouge out his pretty eyes with her bare fingers, and want to fall into his sensual embrace, all at the same time. It wasn't fair, the control this man had over her.

It was time to call Penny.

* * *

In a bed not too far away, not too long before, Leonard propped himself up on one elbow to gaze down at the blonde bombshell splayed out beside him, slowly waking from her deep slumber. No doubt the sleeping beauty would be grumpy and hung over—and he knew observing her in her quiet moments were the best opportunities he had.

"Hey, you," he said with a sly smile, and she groaned, burying her face back into her pillow. "How's your head?"

"Don't piss me off, Leonard, it's too early," she grumbled, wiping eyeliner away from beneath her tired eyes. "What time is it?"

"Noon," he said flatly, reaching for his glasses and sliding them on. "You slept like a rock—after making a nasty mess in the bathroom…"

She huffed, turning to lay flat on her back, completely topless. "Noon, are you kidding? I've hardly had my eight hours sleep…"

"Oh, you've managed through worse—plus you have a shift at two," he said, and chewed his lip as he lamely attempted to keep his eyes off her chest. He needed to get his mind off her—quickly. "I wonder how Sheldon's doing, poor guy…"

Penny's eyes flew open, and she looked startled. "Oh my god, Amy!" she scrambled from the bed, tossing away the sheets. "We left her there—"

"No, no you didn't," he said, tugging her back down. "Well, you _almost _did and then George came and got her—and then the shit _really _hit the fan when Sheldon found out—"

Groaning, she covered her face with her hands. "George took her home, didn't he? To his apartment?"

It was Leonard's turn to frown. "Yeah, he did—but how'd you know that? All I told you was that George took her home."

Penny sat delicately on the edge of the bed, deep in thought. "He told me," she said vaguely, and then recognition registered on her face. "Yeah—Bernie and I were dancing, and he had her in his arms, and told us not to worry because he would take care of her…"

"Yeah…?"

"And to tell Sheldon that she'd be at his place, if he wanted her," Penny said quietly, and turned to face Leonard. "What the hell does that mean?"

"That sibling rivalry is a bitch?" Leonard tried, falling back onto the pillow.

"Leonard—"

He sighed, facing her again. "I don't know, okay? All I know is that I had a very upset Sheldon discover his ex-girlfriend tangled in the limbs of his own brother and he _still _wanted to make sure she got home okay," he said wearily. "I don't know about you, but I am _over _this whole thing."

Penny was pulling a nearby shirt of his up her arms, wrapping it around her skinny torso. "Wait, wait, what? Amy _had sex _with George? No…"

"Well, no one was naked as yet, so unless they've come across a nifty way to get around that age-old problem, then no, no one had sex—"

"So George _wanted _Sheldon to find her with him?" she questioned aloud, shaking her head. "And Amy fell straight into that trap?"

"Penny," Leonard said diplomatically, "I really think that this is a much bigger mess than we had ever imagined, and Amy needs to sort out her own feelings without anyone else meddling—"

"What, so you don't _care _about my best friend and _your _best friend?"

"No!" Leonard spluttered, sitting upright. "Of course I care—seeing Sheldon that distraught was tough, but the guy kind of had it coming for a while—"

Penny cut in once again. "What happened when you dropped her home?"

Scanning over the events of the night before, he shrugged. "Amy was practically passed out in the back of my car, Sheldon didn't say anything right up until we got there—he told her that 'this was the last thing he'd ever do for her' and started to help her out of the car…" he squinted, trying to think of anything else of value. "Amy also asked Sheldon who 'Clara' was—no idea what that was all about…"

"Clara," Penny said, rolling the name around on her tongue. She was quiet for a moment, before reaching over for her cell phone. "I need to call Amy—she needs to know what George is up to—"

"_You _don't even know what George is 'up to'!" Leonard said, tossing his hands up as she tried to call her best friend. When there was no answer, she began writing a message.

"I know _exactly _what he's up to…"

* * *

It was past noon, and he had managed to watch the entire first season of The Walking Dead without interruption. Huddled in his corner spot on the couch, wrapped in a blanket his mother had given him some Christmases ago, he had stared at the television screen—the death, destruction and heartache—numbly for the past seven hours.

He had tried to sleep, to no avail. After hours tossing and turning, furious thoughts running hot in his mind, he dragged himself to the couch and attempted to work on his later research paper. That was a hopeless effort in itself—his usually sharp brain barely able to read the jumbled letters bouncing about the page. It was when he made it half way through the very first episode of one of his favourite television shows—when one of the lead females began rolling around in a torrid affair with the main character's best friend—that he realised _nothing _was going to stop the stabbing pain that was piercing through the left side of his chest.

The DVD had been finished for over fifteen minutes, and was sitting impatiently at the menu, replaying a small section of the theme song over and over again. He had stared at it, unblinking, for what felt like forever, and wasn't really sure what to do next.

_How could you have been so _stupid_? How could you have risked your sanity—your brilliant mind—for the sake of _her_? You will never erase what you saw; she's done with you…_

He exhaled, slow and deep, and closed his eyes, balling his fists in his lap. The urge to turn his apartment upside-down had been haunting him from the moment he had arrived home, but he hadn't allowed the impulse to take over. Yet.

"Hey, Sheldon," Penny said softly as she swept around the corner and into the kitchen. Pulling a carton of juice from the fridge door, she poured herself a drink and leant her hip against the counter. "How you doing?"

He stared at her absently, his eyes resting on the love-hearts lined across her pajama shorts. Clenching his jaw, he felt the knot in his throat grow thick and tight again, and he shook his head the tiniest bit.

"Oh, sweetie," the waitress said tenderly, rushing to his side as he squeezed his burning eyes closed. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't cry, he _couldn't' _cry…

But it seemed denying himself the optional decision to do so undid him further, and he felt emotion wrack his body like a tidal wave; rattling his spine as it overwhelmed him. _Only once _had he experienced an emotional reaction so strong, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Sweetie, I'm sorry," Penny said, gingerly wrapping an arm around his shaking frame and patting his shoulder. "I know how this feels, I really do…"

He leant his head into her instinctively, and felt a few large teardrops escape from his eyelashes. Showing her this was _wrong; _this wasn't him—this wasn't Dr Sheldon Cooper—

But he really didn't care, so instead, he let himself cry. Just a little.

She patted his messy hair down and hummed Soft Kitty gently next to his ear, and he tried not to think. Tried not to _be_, just for a minute.

"Here," she said quietly, passing him a tissue. He took it, wiping beneath his runny nose and tear-stained cheeks.

"Damn," he whispered, a word he used so occasionally these days, and usually in jest. It would break his mother's heart, but that didn't seem to worry him too much either, in that moment.

Penny gave him a sympathetic smile, and shook her head sadly. "I never should have told you—this is my fault…" she pressed her lips together. "I'm so sorry."

"Penny, there is no plausible reason as to how this turn of events could in any way be _your _fault," he croaked, his voice breaking as he sniffled. "I made the reckless decision to go after her, and I never should have."

She was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. "Why did you go after her, Sheldon?"

He sucked in a breath, not wanting to answer the question, or even ask it of himself. "I'm not even so sure myself," he mumbled. Was there any point in denying why he had sought her safety, sought some twisted form of closure in his ex-girlfriend's actions? "I was concerned for her wellbeing."

Penny was silent once again for a moment. "What happened at George's, what you saw, you can't—"

"Please don't," he said, tugging the blanket tighter around his body. He couldn't consider what he'd seen—he simply couldn't.

But Penny wasn't finished. "Sheldon, you've got to understand that sometimes, when people have had too much to drink, they make really stupid decisions, and do things they don't really think are right," she began, rambling slightly. "Remember when you got drunk at that awards night and took off your pants?"

Glaring at her, but finding her comparison slightly amusing, he detangled himself from her embrace and sat back. "I believe you will find that is _not _comparable to this situation."

Penny sighed. "What I'm trying to say is don't necessarily give up on her because of what you saw," she said, and looked at him directly. "She loves you, Sheldon."

Those words made his aching heart flutter and throb. "That's what Alex told me—to not give up," he muttered, and then looked back at her bitterly. "How can I forgive her for what she's done to me?"

Taking a large breath, Penny folded her hands in her lap. "Well, as much as I hate to say it, Alex is a smart girl," she said with a small smile. "I'm not asking you to forgive her, nor will I ask her to forgive _you_, but please don't let this be the end of the Sheldon we've all grown to love ourselves."

Staring at the DVD menu on the television once more, he held his breath. He wasn't so sure who that Sheldon was, not any more.

* * *

Amy shuffled her drained body slightly on Penny's couch, a glass of water in her hand. The afternoon had flown by, and after a brief conversation with her best friend on the phone; they decided it would be best to meet.

Penny plopped down into the spot beside her, looking as weary as Amy felt. "Ames, I am so sorry about last night—Bernadette and I feel terrible—"

"Please," Amy said, holding out a hand to silence her. "Don't apologise—there is no need. I made multiple brainless decisions last night—starting with far too high an alcohol intake and a stupid phone call to George, and ending in a selfish act that took place on his very bed."

Sipping at her own drink, Penny frowned. "Amy, I mean it—we shouldn't have let you go to the bathroom alone, and I definitely shouldn't have let George leave with you—"

"Stop," Amy said firmly, silencing her. "None of us had any definite reason not to trust George—you left me in what you believed were capable hands."

"That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about," Penny said, swinging her legs beneath her. "Leonard told me what happened last night—well, at least we he saw—"

Amy cringed. "What _did _he see?"

"He said it looked like you and George were only moments away from tearing one another's clothes off," she said carefully. "Is that true?"

After a moment of staring at the water line in her glass, Amy nodded.

"Look," Penny said, raking her nails through her long hair. "I'm your best friend—I'm not going to tell you what you should and shouldn't be doing—especially when I'm not one to talk. You've gotta make these decisions on your own, and after everything you _haven't _been through with Sheldon, you're entitled to that, at least."

Watching her, Amy said nothing. Penny's support surprised her, when—to any onlooker—what she had done was so terrible, so heartless.

"I will say this, though: beware of George," she placed down her glass and looked her friend in the eye. "He told me to tell Sheldon where you were last night. He had every intention of taking you back to his apartment, and making sure Sheldon knew you were there."

"What?" Amy said, even though she had heard every word. The new information rang two kinds of alarm bells—one that said George was a user, a cruel joke, and another that said he was marking his territory, in his very own way. "I wondered how Sheldon knew where I was—suddenly he was just _there; _no knocking, nothing…"

Penny nodded slowly, and let out a long breath. "George may not be _dangerous, _but he's certainly not afraid of hurting his own brother," she paused, looking at her intently. "This has really destroyed Sheldon, Ames."

Those words hurt, nearly stealing the wind from her lungs. "How bad is it?"

"I've never seen him like it before," Penny said softly, chewing her lip. "Can I ask you…you still love him, don't you?"

Did she still _love _him? Love Sheldon Cooper? "Of course I do," she said breathlessly, feeling herself come undone, seamlessly. "I never stopped loving him, I just don't know _how _to love him any more."

Tracing the top of her glass, she didn't look up at Penny, for fear of ridicule. "I can't be the one who always loves him _more; _who wants it more. If it's ever going to work, it has to be equal."

When she looked up, Penny was nodding in agreement. "I know," she said. "Leonard told me something else…he said you asked Sheldon about a girl, Clara? And Sheldon told you to ask George…who is this woman?"

Fleeting memories flashed in her mind—the name angry and fierce in George's voice. She couldn't place it, but knew it was significant to the enigma that was George Cooper. "I don't know," she said honestly, shaking her head. "George must have mentioned her, I just can't remember…"

Once again, Penny nodded, but Amy could see she was mulling the information over, deciphering what it meant, and if it was of use to them in discovering who he really was. "Okay," she said.

An odd silence settled in while the two women thought over their predicament, large enough to tear their group apart. Amy couldn't let it happen—she would distance herself from these two men in her life as best should could, until she had an answer. "Would you mind if I stayed tonight? I feel I could do with some company," Amy asked sheepishly, giving Penny a smile.

"Of course, yeah!" Penny said brightly, jumping out of her spot. "I'll tell Leonard I have an important date with another woman—that should piqué his interest."

Amy laughed, and shook her head. "You are like a rainbow of risqué adventure, bestie," she said.

"Uh, yeah," Penny replied uncertainly, putting away a range of pots and pans stacked on her sink. "I haven't made the bed, the sheets are in the dryer downstairs—would you mind grabbing them for me?"

"Sure."

Laundry basket and cell phone in hand, Amy made her way down to the laundry and removed the lolly-pink sheets from the dryer. She smiled as they set off the scent of her dear friend, sweet and fruity, and relished in their warmth in her arms before throwing them into the basket. Closing the door of the dryer, she leant against the machine, taking the opportunity to breathe, for the first time in what felt like days.

Before she could think any more about what she was doing, she pulled her phone from her pocket, and re-read the long text message from George. Since receiving it, she had heard nothing, nor had she responded. But now, there was a niggling question that she needed to know the answer to.

_Why did you ask Penny to tell Sheldon I was at your apartment?_

She hit the send button, and scooped up the basket under her arm, heading for the doorway. Perhaps he would lie, perhaps he wouldn't. But she needed to know _something, _in this time of extreme uncertainty.

The phone vibrated within seconds of the message being sent, and the answer did not surprise her one bit.

_Because he needed to know where your heart lies now. I'm sorry._

Before she could exit the tiny laundry, a tall, lanky figure stopped dead in the doorway—right in her path. She froze, staring at the man whom she had hurt so badly; the man who had hurt her times before.

_Sheldon. _

She wanted to speak, so badly, but her throat—like the rest of her body—had turned icy and produced nothing but air. He stared at her, with his dark, hateful gaze, and she felt her stomach sink when she saw the stubble on his jaw, the dark circles beneath his beautiful eyes. His hair was not combed into placed, instead it stood up in slight tufts, and his t-shirt was wrinkled and appeared to need a wash.

She opened her mouth to speak, she _tried, _so hard, but he simply swept past her without a second glance, his shoulder brushing against her own.

_I'm sorry._


	16. Chapter 16

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Why hello there, chickadees! Chapter sixteen has arrived! I won't say much this time-except that I'm obviously not discontinuing; thanks to everyone out there who got me back on the straight and narrow. Haha. It is much appreciated, and I will finish this for you! Please read, review and, most importantly, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

By a very early age, he had determined that his bedroom was in the optimum position to hear every conversation murmured in their household.

Not long after, he learned that if he inched the door open barely an eye width, and sat with his back against it, he no longer needed to strain to hear every single word.

If he closed his eyes and focused, it sounded like the walls could talk—whispers of thin wallpaper and thick, wet paint.

At such a young age, he knew the twists and turns of his parents' marriage, the sounds of anger and pleasure and sadness. He knew when _not _to listen; the days when the door was best kept tightly shut.

And when he was older—too old and too wise to still be sitting against the bedroom door, _listening_—he discovered a selection of secrets held by his brother, and his sister, and the weave of whispers strung together in the fabric of their own family.

"_I haven't eaten in days," _his sister would tell a friend, bobbing her head to the sound of her radio beside her. _"I think I've lost ten pounds."_

"_Not even the Lord can help our Shelly," _his mother would murmur, clanging dishes together in the kitchen sink. _"Nothing ever will."_

"_I can meet you after eleven," _his father would whisper into the phone, watching his back anxiously. _"Once everyone here is asleep."_

"_Shh, Clara, don't worry," _his brother would say, and the springs of his bed would gently creak. _"No one can hear us here."_

* * *

The dreary sunlight hit the surface of her dashboard, bouncing streaks of pale light across her rain-spotted windscreen and highlighting the thousands of tiny dust particles floating about her dusty car. The small space was growing stuffy, and her sweaty palms traced the steering wheel for the umpteenth time since pulling up in front of her destination almost an hour prior. Her heart thumped in her chest with anxious impatience—begging her to get the deed done with and return home, before she could over think anything further.

Clearing her throat, she twisted her handbag across her body and switched off that same song she had been playing on repeat since leaving her apartment, and slid herself out of the car quietly. Rain was spitting from a sky that looked like it were enduring a battle similar to her very own—the sun wondering if it should go or stay. She unlatched the front gate, and made her way up the stone path, gazing at the aged redbrick home standing before her. "This was a bad idea," she murmured, pressing her finger to the doorbell.

After a moment—and the flicker of a curtain inside—the door swung open, and there she stood, frosty as ever. "Amy," she said, her wrinkled lips pursing into a sour smile. "What an unexpected surprise."

"Mother," she replied, her tone equally cool. "My apologies for not calling—"

Immediately, her mother bristled, crossing her skinny arms over her cardigan-clad chest. "Or responding to any of _my _calls for the past month," she narrowed her hooded eyes and allowed her only child to linger in the doorway a little longer. "This has to do with that boy you're seeing, doesn't it? I told you—"

"Nancy, who is it—oh!" The sleek black bun of her aunt's hair appeared alongside her mother, and the taller woman's blood-red lips cracked into a wide smile. "Amy, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

Before she could splutter an excuse, Amy was being propelled into the warm house by her aunt's manicured hands, steering her into the kitchen and kissing her cheek kindly. Her mother, stony-faced, followed behind grudgingly, and Amy gave her aunt a half-smile. "Aunt Ellie, so nice to see you—"

The preened and proper younger woman retracted her hand from the tea cosy hugging her mother's ancient kettle and placed it on her hip, eying Amy with curiosity. "My, you have grown," she mused, nodding at her own observations. "Is that make-up on your face? And you _are _showing an awful lot of cleavage—well, by your mother's standards anyway—"

"Ellen is right—you are a little underdressed for the occasion—"

Her aunt grinned wickedly, and Amy remembered why she had always been the favourite of her distant relatives. "Quite the contrary," she said quietly, breaking her gaze to pour three perfect cups of tea. "It's been so long since we last saw one another—and you have blossomed—might I suggest this be the work of a young man, Amy?"

Amy took the china teacup from her aunt and opened her mouth to speak. "Well—"

"Oh, it most certainly is," her frail mother interjected, now seated at the old wooden dining table with her back straight and a scowl painted on her aged face. "As I was _saying_, Amy, it is completely unacceptable to cease communication with your mother because you feel your time is better spent frolicking with that _boy _you've been dating—"

Struggling to maintain her composure—and regretting her impromptu visit—Amy released a long breath and sat beside her mother. "Listen, you've got it all wrong—"

That grating voice was already working its magic on the already-drained neurobiologist. "Don't you tell me I've got it all wrong, and don't you think I don't know what you've been up to—"

"Oh, Nancy, stop," her aunt chastised beside her, and Amy blinked in her direction. "Leave the poor girl alone—I'm sure she's having the time of her life, and doesn't need you meddling—"

"_Meddling? _I would hardly call my presence in my own daughter's life meddling—"

As appreciative as she was for her aunt's assistance, Amy felt her emotions spiralling out of control. "Mother, Sheldon and I—"

"Oh, _Sheldon, _is that his name?" her aunt gushed, cupping a palm under her chin. The woman was drastically different from her own mother, despite being raised in the same household. "I would just love to hear all about him—"

Her mother gave her an icy glare and drew back her narrow shoulders as she sipped her tea. "I want to hear nothing about _him—"_

"Sheldon and I are no longer dating," Amy blurted out, staring down into her milky tea with feigned interest. "The relationship was terminated."

The room fell silent temporarily, and she heard her mother huff. "Well, that was imminent—"

"Nancy!" Ellen scolded, and snatched for her niece's hand. "I'm so sorry to hear such news."

Next to her, Amy's mother sipped at her tea indifferently. "What happened?"

Looking between the two women, Amy shook her head lightly. "I would rather not discuss it—"

There was a clink of china and her mother scowled. "He lost interest in you, didn't he? They all do—I told you—"

Irritated, Amy bit back. "If you _must _know, no—in fact, _I _hurt _him_, but he was hardly interested in the first place—"

"There's no need to lie about the circumstances," her mother said, dropping a sugar cube into her cup. "As I predicted, he moved on to a better alternative—someone younger, more attractive—"

"_No_," Amy said sternly, resisting the urge to press at her mother's ever-present insecurities. "I met somebody else."

The words were falling from her mouth as though they were not her own—her story too easy to tell in her disconnected state. A week—one entire week—had passed by since her last encounter with Sheldon in the laundry, and ever since she had tried her utmost to distance herself from everyone in her little world.

"Oh," her mother commented slowly, eyebrows raised. "I see…and this man is a little more to your liking than the last?"

Amy thought back to the last message she had received from George—a voice message he had left after the third call had rung out that very morning. _'Please,' _his voice has said, husky and worn, _'I can't do this without you.'_

"I don't know," Amy said honestly, her voice soft. Not once had she replied to his calls and messages, nor had she opened her door when he had banged on it relentlessly for hours on end. Yet she still dreamt of him, and Sheldon, night after night. "I wish I knew."

"I must say, Amy, this trashy demeanour does not suit you," her mother scolded, adjusting her glasses to glare at her once again. "Make-up, exposing your skin, leading on numerous men—I won't have my own daughter be labelled a tramp—"

"That's it," Amy said, pushing away from the dining table with force and snatching up her handbag. "I came here hoping for a little support in forgiveness, since I can't seem to sort out any of the other crap going on in my life, but I see now that it was a pointless venture." She looked at her mother's shocked face, dropped jaw. "Don't expect this tramp to be stopping by any more."

She began to make her way to the doorway, and felt her aunt grasp for her hand. "Amy—"

"Thank you for the tea, Aunt Ellie," she said kindly, and marched out the door, slamming it behind her.

Once again, she had been _so stupid. _Visiting her mother—whom she had so little to do with in her older years as it was—had been a waste of time, and only reminded her of the wrong she had done. She stormed down the garden path and through the gate, feeling raindrops flicking against her tights and dampening her hair. It didn't matter, because she wouldn't return again.

"Dammit," she swore as she dug in her handbag for her car keys, growing wetter by the second. When she fumbled for them and they cluttered onto the road, she felt a tightness in her throat and her eyes begin to burn. "_Dammit."_

"Amy!" she heard from the house, and watched as her aunt rushed across the lawn to her, jogging lightly in her patent black high heels. "Listen to me—you know your mother, she can be extremely difficult when it suits her—"

Scooping up her keys, Amy brushed the tears from her cheeks, mingled with the soft rain. "Don't worry yourself with us, Aunt Elle…"

The dark haired woman rounded the car and brushed a hand over her niece's hair, giving her a sympathetic smile. "What has happened to you, Amy?"

Not even a long, slow breath could contain the wave of emotion rolling over Amy in that moment, and she felt the dam wall break. "I fell in love with a man that is fundamentally perfect for me, and I for him…but he has virtually no sex drive and I can't—I couldn't…" she dropped her arms to her sides and let out a frustrated sob. This was all wrong. "I met his brother, and I…"

_Ruined everything. _

She heard her aunt sigh and lean against the bonnet of the car, an image in her pristine pantsuit that was getting wetter by the second. "Amy," she started, her voice gentle. "I have known you for your entire life…you were always difficult, and very different. The last time I saw you, you were reprimanding me for the way in which I raised my own teenaged daughter—you told me to discourage her 'pointless romantic endeavours' and push her toward a healthy lifestyle in the sciences."

Sniffling, Amy bit her lip and stared at her aunt. She remember that day, years ago, when she had looked down upon her sixteen year old cousin as she flirted with her very first boyfriend, telling her aunt to educate the silly girl or send her off to boarding school. "I remember," she nodded.

"Well," her aunt said, and reached into her pant pocket, pulling out a single cigarette and a lighter. "Emma is twenty now, and I've seen her go through her fair share of relationship dramas, and do you know who you remind me of right now?"

Amy watched as the rain began to subside, and marvelled at her composed and professional her aunt could look with a smoking cigarette dangling from her bright lips. "Who?"

"Her, at sixteen years old, full of hormones and insecurity and unsure teenage desire," she said, blowing out a long puff of smoke. "Is this the first time you've been in love?"

Amy stared at her. "Well, yes…"

"The first time you've ever considered what it is _you _want in a relationship—in a _man_?"

She nodded, hesitant. "I suppose so."

Ellen crushed the fiery stub under her the toe of her heel and gave her a smile. "I have known you for your entire life, and this is the first time I've seen adolescent Amy peek out from hiding—cut her some slack," she said, and slipped the lighter back into her pocket. "Don't tell your mother about this—she thinks I quit long ago."

Without another word, her aunt patted her cheek and made her way back toward the house, leaving Amy staring at the shiny surface of the road, contemplating her aunt's words.

For the first time in her life, she knew what it was to be in love. For the first time in her life, she felt proud of her sexuality. For the first time in her life, she wanted a romance; a desire; a _partner_. And that was just the problem—it was her first time.

* * *

"Penny, for the last time, it is _not _you place to get involved—now give me the damn phone!"

The blonde waitress glared back at her stubborn boyfriend, who was attempting to snatch her cell phone from her reach as she dangled it above him. "Leonard, I am calling her and that's final—I can make this decision on my own—"

"It's not your decision to be making!" he snapped, folding his arms over his chest. "This is for Amy and Sheldon to sort out, and you need to butt out."

Penny scowled, throwing herself onto his couch. "It's been a week—Sheldon has barely come out of his bedroom and Amy hardly answers any of her calls! If I could just get George out of the picture we might have a chance at getting them to kiss and make up—"

"You and I _both_ know that Sheldon isn't going to 'kiss and make up' with _anyone, _let alone Amy," Leonard mumbled, dropping down beside her. "And who says that by calling their mom you're going to get rid of George?"

"I don't know!" she whined, tossing her head back dramatically. "If I could just get some juicy information about him it may be enough to drive him away—or Amy away from him…"

Leaning forward, Leonard gently pried the phone from her fingers. "There may not be any juicy information to be found out in all of this, Penny," he said. "You need to stay out of their business—"

A knock at the door had Penny leaping off the couch. "Finally," she said, swinging the door open to look down at her smaller blonde friend. "Did you find anything?"

Bernadette made her way inside, flattening her bright skirt before taking a seat in the armchair. "Well," she said uneasily, clearing her throat. "I've spent the past two days looking into this 'Clara' woman as you asked, and let me tell you—Facebook is a social minefield if you can get into the right places—"

"Yeah, yeah, it's great for stalking and gossip—what did you find?" Penny said shortly, waving her along.

Bernadette glared at the waitress, swinging one slim leg over the other. "I wasn't able to come up with anything solid, but what I did find suggests that—"

"Hold on a second," Leonard cut in, frowning. "You set Bernadette on a mission to investigate this 'Clara' person—Penny, you can't—"

"I did and I can," she snapped, and looked back to Bernadette. "Go on."

"_Rumours _I have read suggest that George and Clara were in a rocky relationship for some years, and—according to his classmates at the time—weren't exactly a _vanilla _couple," she said, unfazed. "It seems that George wasn't well-liked in his home town in more recent years."

"Okay," Penny said slowly, taking a seat in Sheldon's spot. "So, the guy is a bit kinky in the bedroom—that's nothing _that_ unusual, but why was he so disliked?"

Biting her lip, Bernadette shuffled in her seat uncomfortably. "Well, with Howie's hacking skills, I found something else," she reached for her handbag and pulled out her phone, passing it to Penny. "Read it."

Leonard stared at Bernadette wide-eyed. "You hacked someone's Facebook account?" shaking his head, he stood from the couch and took off down the hallway. "I am so done with this…"

Ignoring her frustrated boyfriend, Penny cast her eye over the message and felt her stomach turn. "Where did you find this?"

"A former classmate of theirs sent it to George's account—it was a private message," Bernadette said softly. "Penny, you know how boys can be, we can't assume anything _too_ drastic—"

Penny wasn't hearing a word her petite friend was saying. "Maybe this will help Amy see what George is capable of," she said, and forwarded on the message without a second thought.

* * *

He _had _to finish this paper.

It was late—well beyond his bedtime—and Sheldon stared back at his buzzing laptop, bleary-eyed and aggravated. He had been sitting at his desk for hours now, shoulders slumped and the lights dimmed, attempting to complete the same report he had been working on for the past week.

_One week._

He growled and ran a hand through his hair, clenching strands between his knuckles until it hurt. Over and over again, he had re-written the same paragraph, finding each revision no more successful than the last. The screen was slowly becoming unfocused, and his burning eyes begged for rest, as they had for days now.

_For a week._

The apartment was deathly silent, with Leonard spending the night across the hall with Penny and his phone switched off. He blinked at the screen and scrubbed at his eyes, urging them to wake up, to help him see _something. _His entire week had gone on the same—disturbed sleep, difficulty focusing, lack of motivation. Exhaustion. Anger.

_One whole week._

Groaning, he cradled his head in his hands. The entire week, he had shown nothing but signs of weakness—to not only himself, but those around him. He had hoped to channel his energy toward his work, to concentrate on his routine, and instead demonstrated so little self-control that he began to loathe what he'd become. What _she'd _made him.

He tossed aside the blanket that was weaved around his legs and made his way to the kitchen, flinging the fridge door open in search for something that might brighten his sleepy form. The paper required completion by nine o'clock the following morning, and so far he had an introductory paragraph and a poorly executed bell curve. Standing straight, he stared at a high cupboard, contemplating his next move. He'd done it done before, years prior, when he'd needed a boost—perhaps it would do the trick again now.

Within minutes, he was stirring a black cup of coffee, breathing in its potent scent as he lumped sugar into the near-syrupy mix. He eyed it warily, watching the small spinning funnel dissipate as he drew it to his lips. It tasted bitter and sharp, and made his taste buds tingle, but he needed something—_anything_—that would get rid of the cloudiness fogging his mind.

"Okay," he mumbled to himself, taking his seat once again and stretching his neck. "Come on, caffeine, mimic that adenosine…"

Almost immediately, he could feel his heart begin to race, and a new lease of life sweep over him—the page in front of him growing clearer and sharper. Within minutes, his fingers were flying over the keyboard, making up for hours of lost time, and—within the hour—the paper was finished, and he was sipping at his second cup of coffee.

"What next…" he hummed to himself, bouncing in his spot. For the first time all week, he had more energy than he knew what to do with. The effect the warm beverage had on his brain fascinated him, and—although he knew every detail of how the stimulant operated—he wondered if _she _thought it was intriguing, too.

"_Amy,_" he said bitterly, for the first time in so long, and dragged a hand down his rough face. She played on his mind constantly, caused this _torture_…if only he could simply _forget. _

He laughed, and opened a new email on his laptop, addressing it to her.

_Amy, _he wrote, _I want to forget you; forget all about you and your existence in my life. The irony behind that statement is that the one person who could help me with such a task is _you. _What I wouldn't give for you to spend five minutes delving into my brain to rid it of every trace of _you.

Stopping, he stared at the messy chunk of text he had typed within seconds. The screen danced with colours and shapes, and his mind began to spiral as he drifted.

_There is so much I want to forget—thoughts that I disregard every day; never overlooked by my perfect memory. I would get rid of you, and them, and every bad thing that ever happened to me. Perhaps if I could pluck them from my mind, I would be able to get on with what is important._

Another gulp of his hot drink, and he blindly continued, unthinking. He was light and free and easy, so why should he have to stop?

_I can't get you out of my head, and I _hate _it. I detest it. I can see you beneath him, wrapped up in him, and it makes me want to tear you away; to lock you away. And the dreams…I dream about you all the time, pinning you down like he did, being more than what I am…_

And _God _did he dream—vividly. Every night they invaded his mind in near-high definition, disturbing him beyond his wildest imagination.

_I want to forget you, Amy, can you help me do that?  
_

* * *

After persevering a seemingly endless drive back from her childhood home, Amy stiffly made her way up the multiple flights of stairs to her apartment. It was well after dark, and she hadn't eaten all day, nor did she intend to. The short yet gruelling afternoon with her mother had left her drained, and all she wanted was to slip into bed and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The entire ride home had been spent contemplating her aunt's words, her blasé attitude toward Amy's situation. Of course, Ellen knew little of the specifics of the dilemma, but she couldn't help but wonder if—perhaps—she had a very valid point.

Was she wrong for wanting something she had never had? For craving the woman she never got to be, after a lifetime of being overlooked?

The truth was, she missed them—_both _of them. Missed Sheldon's quirky brilliance and cerulean eyes and the way his hand fitted perfectly in her own. Missed George's smouldering gaze and cheeky smirk and the way he _needed _her in every way.

She sighed, dragging her tired body up the stairs. She had to stay away, well away.

A sudden vibrating buzzed against her side, and she rummaged for her phone in her bag. "Hey, Penny," she answered quietly.

"Amy!" Penny's vibrant voice clucked on the other end. "You haven't been answering my calls…"

Instantly, Amy felt guilty. "I'm sorry, I've just needed some time to clear my head," she said.

"No, no, it's fine—I understand," her best friend said quickly.

Amy frowned, thrown by the distracted edge to the blonde's voice. "What's wrong?"

There was a moment of silence before Penny spoke. "Bernadette's here, I'm going to put you on speaker," she said, and Amy heard a clunk. "There we go."

"Hi Amy!" Bernadette chirped.

"Hello," Amy said warily. "What's going on…?"

Once again, there was silence. "Don't get mad, okay?" Penny began. "Ever since you went home with George last weekend Bernie and I have been a little worried about you—"

"Mostly Penny," Bernadette cut in quickly.

"Right," Penny continued. "Look, I know who you chose is your decision and I have no right to be influencing your choice but—"

Amy had stopped dead on the stairwell, leaning against the handrail. "But what?" she said tersely.

Penny sighed. "You know I don't trust George, so we did a little background investigation on him and—"

"You _what?_"

"It was Penny's idea!"

"Please don't be mad," Penny pleaded, and Amy resisted the urge to hang up on her girlfriends. "You know I'm just looking out for you—there's just something about him—"

Amy felt an overwhelming wave of frustration hit her, and she struggled to contain herself. "Why, because he's interested in someone like _me? _Or because he's after his brother's girlfriend?" she snarled. "I cannot believe you two—did it ever occur to you that he may have _apologised _for his actions? That he's as confused as I am?"

"Amy, we're only looking out for you—"

"The guy may not be who he seems to be—"

"Oh, stop!" she snapped, and the line went quiet. "I _know _George has secrets, I _know _he has issues, but you can both rest assured that I'm staying well away from _both _of these damn Cooper men until I've figured out what the hell I'm going to do!"

Panting from her outburst, she squeezed her eyes shut and banged her head against the brick wall behind her lightly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to be going."

"Ames, wait," Penny's voice rang out quietly, and Amy paused, just to hear her. "We're going to send you something—think of it what you want, but _please _be careful."

She disconnected the call and stormed up the stairs, feeling a throbbing headache creeping into her skull. They _actually _looked into George's past; did a background check on the man? Because he seemed suspicious, because they didn't trust him? She scowled, rounding the corner to her apartment as her phone vibrated in her hand once again.

Pursing her lips, she unlocked the phone and squinted at the image. It was a picture of a message sent via Facebook to George, from a man whose name she did not know. She stared at it until her vision became blurred, until her confusion and uncertainty grew numb around the edges.

_Clara told me what you did.  
I will give you bruises like you gave her._

"Amy?"

The sound of her name in that smooth Texan accent startled her, and she snapped her head up. There—looking as charming as ever—was George, sitting against her apartment door, his tanned arms wrapped around his long legs and an unreadable expression across his handsome face.

Clenching her jaw, she stared him down. This couldn't be right, it simply couldn't.

_You barely know him at all. _

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead she tossed him her phone, which he caught clumsily and peered at, beautiful features turning pale.

"What the hell is this?"


	17. Chapter 17

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Hello, chickens! Sorry for the delay on this one, I wrote half of it and BAM! had to go in for emergency surgery! A solid excuse if there ever was one. Haha. So, I am now in recovery mode and managed to finish this chapter up, and hoping to have the next up soon. I'm hoping this chapter makes sense (and is actually _good) _as the painkillers I'm on are questionable. Anyway, enjoy, and don't forget to review!

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

He had a memory, one from a very long time ago, but he just wasn't sure if it were true.

It had been a muggy morning in May—Sunday the sixteenth, to be exact. He had awoken to the smell of carbonised bacon and fried eggs, and the sound of his sister's radio blaring an over-played dance beat that frequently became stuck in his eidetic mind. He had grumbled and flattened his bed covers with expert precision, and carefully marked off his height against the pale blue wallpaper in his bedroom. He had been less than a millimetre taller than his previous weekly inspection, still not quite reaching the doorhandle.

His mother had insisted he wear his blue Sunday tie—a backup option that was completely unnecessary given that his preferred green Sunday tie was crowning the top of the pile, ready to go. She had insisted he wear it, and his sister wear her prettiest dress, and his brother wear his shiniest shoes. _"Only the best for our Lord," _she had told them with a smile that was wider than normal, as they stood in a line by the front door, looking preened and proper.

Damp steam had risen from the dark pavement in puffs as they made their way toward the local church, and he had groaned when the overcast sky had started to spit on his clean suit. The moist air had seemed so thick that he felt suffocated, barraged by the tightness in his lungs, the sweatiness of his skin, and the tone of his mother's hummed hymn.

They had sat together as an incomplete family in the second row of the cosy chapel, and he had wondered if the scent of incense and candles would cause him an early death. After a half hour, the tiny house of God had filled with bodies, fanning themselves with advertising flyers and straining to hear the murmured prayers of their pastor. "Welcome," he had begun, opening out his cloaked arms as he stood above them all.

He had tuned out, as usual, to stare at the aged floorboards and make use of his lost time. Beside him, he had noticed his siblings doing similarly—his sister looping the lace edging of her dress around her fingers numbly and his brother using the Bible as a hat to shroud his sleepy eyes. His mother had, however, gazed toward the front, the worn book held tightly against her chest as she stared, mesmerised, at the pastor.

After the service had ended, and the faithful gatherers began to file out, he had noticed his mother slip out from her pew and approach the altar, a sway in her step as she ascended the stairs. She had congratulated their pastor on the successful sermon, and her laughter tinkled lightly as she drew closer to the older man. She had fluttered her eyes and trailed her fingers over his arm as she suggested a reading for next week. She had left her hand there for a moment longer, and he had smiled back.

Up until now, he had held this memory, from a very long time ago, unsure if it were true. Up until now, it had never fazed him. Up until, he hadn't known any better.

* * *

"What the hell is this?"

She watched the bump in his throat move as he swallowed thickly, the colour seeping from his cheeks. George's eyes, transfixed on the device between his long fingers, travelled to her, wide and hollow. "Where did you get this?"

She had expected him to leap to his feet, to rush to her and dazzle her with every excuse under the sun, but he didn't. Instead, he sat perfectly still, and his motionless form was unsettling. "Where I got this is not your concern," she replied coolly. "Your concern should be—"

"What?" he growled lowly, face hardening as he tightened his grip around her cell phone. "What should it be?"

Her body shook with frustration, his attitude rattling her. "Well, I was _going _to suggest it be explaining yourself, but you seem to be hell bent on defending yourself instead," she countered, contemplating spinning on her heel for her car. What was he doing at her apartment, anyway?

He sucked in a long breath and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wood of the door. "I'm not going to defend myself, Amy," he said quietly, and pulled himself up from the floor, holding her phone out at arm's length. "Here."

Without taking her eye off him, she took the cell phone, heart thumping. He diverted his gaze from hers, and she noticed a muscle jump in his jaw as he went to step around her to leave. "That's it?" she said, before she could censor the words tumbling out of her mouth. "You've got nothing else to say—you're just going to run?"

"What the fuck am I supposed to say, Amy?" he snapped suddenly, those piercing eyes honing in on her. "That I didn't do this? That I didn't give her bruises? The message is pretty goddamn condemning—"

"Did you?" she interrupted through clenched teeth, her voice jittery.

Running a hand over his unshaven face roughly, George growled. "Amy, there's more to it than—"

"_Did you do it?_"

After a moment, he let out a long, ragged breath. "Yes," he said. "I did."

She wanted to be afraid of him, to banish him from her life and every corner of her mind, but the fear didn't come, and that scared her more than his dark confession. _No, you didn't, _she wanted to scream at him. _I don't believe you._

"You need to leave," she said finally, pushing past him toward her front door, fumbling with her keys. _Because I can't risk not being afraid._

"Clara and I weren't like regular couples, Amy," he tried, his voice rough. "There were…_things_ that we used to do together—"

"Stop, George," she said tiredly, without turning to him. "I don't want to hear it."

There was a deathly silence in the hallway, but she knew he was still behind her, holding his breath for her. "Fine," he said quietly, and paused. "But I know you understand this, even if you won't admit it right now."

Squeezing her eyes closed, she slipped into her apartment and slammed the door, but not before hearing his rich voice murmur through the wood grain: _"I'll wait until you can."  
_

* * *

"Right—intervention time!"

Apartment 4A's front door swung open with force, and in trotted Howard Wolowitz, balancing three boxes of pizza on one arm and a six-pack of soda cans in the other. From his spot on the couch, Sheldon narrowed his eyes at the scrawny man, who was closely followed by his sidekick.

"Yep," Raj agreed, kicking the door shut with his foot and dumping a large pile of games, controllers and cables onto the couch. "All this moping around is playing havoc with those frown lines, Sheldon—and once they're there, there's no turning back!"

Sinking further into his seat, Sheldon groaned and locked his eyes on his laptop. It had been a long, tiresome day at work, and spending the evening with these loons wasn't high on his priority list. "Leonard," he called out flatly. "What are _they _doing here?"

From the kitchen, where he was kneeling to collect a handful of plates, Howard scoffed. "Oh, come on, Sheldon—show a little gratitude," he said with a smirk. "We're here with pizza, zombies and an indescribably unhealthy amount of soda—Bernie says it'll rot my teeth by just _looking _at it—"

Leonard bounded down the hallway. "Hey, guys," he said, heading for the television. "I invited them, Sheldon."

"We all felt you could do with a little pick-me-up," Raj explained, sitting down next to him. "And we _all _know that a solid twenty-something rounds of zombie annihilation does the trick."

Sheldon snapped his laptop shut and put it aside. "Okay—for starters, it isn't even pizza night, so I refuse to eat it," he said stubbornly. "And secondly, I have no desire to take part in your stupid undead intervention, so I will bid you all adieu and retire to my bedroom for the evening."

Before he could even stand, there was a game controller in his lap and Leonard was handing him a slice of pizza. "Shut up, Sheldon," his best friend said, and—in that instant—it was one of the nicest things anyone had said to him all week.

"Okay…" Howard hummed on the other end of the leather couch. "Shall we start on round…ten? Comments, criticisms?"

Sheldon stared at the screen, rubbing his fingers over the buttons in his hands absently. He had a headache, one that throbbed behind his eyes and reminded him of everything that was _wrong._ Briefly, he wondered if it were part of a dubious list of symptoms he had associated with caffeine withdrawal—given the ridiculous quantities of the liquid energy he had consumed the night prior, it wouldn't have surprised him.

_She never replied to your email, _a little voice tormented in the back of his mind, and he scowled. Hitting the darn send button was one of the most senseless things he'd ever done, he was sure.

"Sheldon?" Leonard was prompting, clicking his fingers in front of the physicist's face. "We're about to start—you ready?"

What did it matter if she didn't reply? What did it matter if he had provided her with the opportunity to see straight into the depths of his emotional turmoil? He pursed his lips and nodded. "Yes."

"I'm going to go straight for the Mystery Box," Raj muttered beside him, flicking at the triggers.

"Mmm, maybe hold off," Howard replied. "We should all go buy Jugs before we do anything else—"

Next to him, Raj giggled. "Jugs…"

Sighing, Leonard piped up. "But then we'll only have a handgun—"

"Well then buy something off the wall—sheesh…"

In amongst their tactics-based bicker, a dull knock sounded at the door and Penny slipped inside. Sheldon could see her blonde hair practically glowing out of the corner of his eye, but didn't move his gaze from the screen.

"You guys hear that?" Howard mumbled, clearly focusing on the game at hand.

Sheldon jerked his head in the waitress' direction. "Penny," he explained, as he careened his character across a pit of fire and shot a limping zombie multiple times in the head.

"Yeah, hi," she said dismissively, and moved into their line of sight. "Sheldon, I need to talk to you."

"Can't," he said monotonously, looking past her. "Been roped into the intervention to end all interventions."

Leonard darted his gaze away from the game momentarily. "Yeah, Penny, maybe you could talk to Sheldon a little later—we're right in the middle of a game—"

Scowling, Penny snatched the controller out of Raj's hands, dangling it above his head. "Pause it or you all die," she threatened.

"Oh, no, Penny—I'm going to get eaten, and I didn't get Jugs yet like Howard told me to—"

The blonde frowned at the whining astrophysicists. "Jugs? What…?" she shook her head. "Never mind—Sheldon, why the hell would you let Amy go anywhere near George if you knew he was dangerous?"

Sheldon snapped his gaze to her, glaring. How could she ask him that?

Leonard huffed and paused the game. "Penny, we spoke about this—you need to leave—you can't go asking Sheldon questions like that—"

Folding his arms over his chest, Howard looked puzzled. "Is that about the investigative work Bernie had me do?"

"What investigative work?" Raj asked, looking between Sheldon and Penny curiously.

Penny ignored her boyfriend. "Bernadette and I did a little bit of background checking on George, Howard helped—"

Gritting his teeth, Sheldon could feel his body grow hot. "Why the hell would you do that?" he hissed.

Penny looked slightly taken aback, but pushed on. "Because the man is seedy, that's why!" she said. "I don't understand how you could _let _this happen if you knew—"

"Penny, that's not fair, this wasn't Sheldon's fault," Leonard interrupted, standing to usher her out. "We're supposed to be supporting him—he's our friend—"

"But what did George _do?_" Raj said impatiently.

"I can explain later, but right now—"

"Sheldon must have known about this Clara girl—"

Sheldon could nearly see the pressure building behind his eyes; feel the pummel of his heart as it tried to escape. He couldn't take this, not now.

Shifting to meet his eye, Penny looked at him sternly. "I am about _this _close from calling your mother and asking her to spill—"

Before he could stop himself, he was on his feet, towering over her. The controller and his dinner had gone crashing to the floor, the plate smashing to pieces. "Don't you _dare _call my mother," he warned, barely recognising the deep, accented growl that came from low in his throat. Fists clenched at his sides, he watched Penny nearly cower from him, and the group around him went deathly silent. "This is a message to _all _of you: I refuse to talk about _her_, my brother or that _whore _that he used to see."

Shaking, he pushed past their shocked friend, making his way toward his bedroom. "But know this," he added, looking back at her. "I would never allow a woman to stand directly in harm's way, and perhaps if you stayed out of my damn business you'd have known that by now."

* * *

Well, even the monkeys hadn't been able to cheer her up that day.

Amy settled into her couch, a Chinese take-away container across her lap, as she scanned the channels for something mindless to watch. Screeching in the door at well past dinnertime, the neurobiologist had ordered in her dinner, tugged on a pair of sweat pants and intended on switching off for the evening, as best she could,

She tucked her legs up and shovelled more food into her mouth. Her entire day at the lab had been an unsuccessful disaster—her ability to focus on her important research and correlate results evading her completely, mind instead riddled with thoughts of two Cooper men who—she was sure—would be the death of her.

"Boring," she mumbled as she passed over the world news, which she would normally have settled for, but she just felt…restless. Her phone flashed on the coffee table in front of her, reminding her of the multitude of missed calls and texts from her girlfriends, and the emails she hadn't yet checked. It was becoming clearer and clearer to Amy that the outside world was out to get her, and—in some twisted form of fate—she was remembering _why _she had spent so many years building her Sheldon-like façade.

_Sheldon. _His name made her stomach turn, and she tossed the container of food away from herself. Had she _really _left him for a man who abused women, who was a _danger _to herself?

_No, because you know it's all wrong._

She groaned, cradling her head in her hands. George was wrong—he was a sick, manipulative man who would only use her up. That was the truth.

The truth that she wanted to believe.

After he had left her apartment, and she had buried herself under her covers to sleep, she had dreamt of him kissing her, touching her. Again. She had dreamt of the way his velvety voice would purr her name, and tell her he adored her. She had awoken fearless; as unafraid of him as she was before.

"That's it," she snapped to herself, grabbing her phone and opening her inbox. "Check some emails, take your mind off things…"

She scrolled through the mess of unopened messages—mostly from work colleagues or spam advertising about Nigerian princes and Viagra. But one single email, nestled between the rest, made her heart come to a screaming halt.

_Sheldon Cooper._

Sitting up straight, she frowned and ran her eye over the chaotic email—unformatted and unstructured. It spoke of his hate for what she had done to him, what George had done to them, and the haunting memories he buried every day. It spoke of how deeply she had affected him, and how badly he wanted to forget.

It spoke emotions she didn't even know he felt—dark and haunted.

"Oh god," she whispered, hot tears tumbling down her cheeks. Was this what it was always going to take? An ultimatum that would tear out his every nerve one by one before he finally knew how to feel?

And when he finally felt would he simply want to _erase _it all, go back to a blank slate?

_Come by the lab tomorrow, _she typed, her fingers unsteady with lies, _I'll see what I can do.  
_

* * *

_The room was dark and cramped, and stunk of rancid blood and formaldehyde. He stepped through the open door, dangling from its hinges, over the dirty tiles, littered with glass and red dust. Test tubes and beakers were strewn across the stainless bench, seeping hazardous liquids. The scent of chemicals caught his breath and burned his eyes, and in the murky light he strained to see her, waiting for him. _

"_Amy?" he asked, and she suddenly she was before him, blood splattered and stained in a torn nurse's uniform. Her eyes were black, unseeing, and she held a syringe between them, rusted and blunt. _

"_Let's begin," she said, and guided him to his seat. Padding stuck out from the torn cushions, and leather straps hung from the armrests, swinging in anticipation. Without hesitance, he sat, and she straddled his legs, hovering over him with the long needle in her hand. "This won't hurt one bit."_

_He could feel the pointy metal piercing his temple, white hot, and he flinched. Her body weight pressed firmly against his, and he could sense her warm breath on his chest, her fingers pressing against the pulse in his neck. Blinking her blackened eyes at him, she smirked, and bit into his flesh. "Are you sure you want to forget this?"_

_Moaning, he tipped his head back and grasped at the skin of her thighs, bare and cold. She jabbed the scorching needle a little harder, and he cried out, and in an instant she was below him, trapped. "No," he whispered in her ear, securing her wrists and strapping her down. "I'm not."_

_She wouldn't escape him, not this time._

Sheldon awoke with a start, thrashing against the sheets and gasping for air. His flannel pajamas were coated with sweat, and his stomach rolled, queasy. Early morning sunlight shone through his drapes, and he sighed, hanging his head. Would he _ever _escape these dreams?

Throwing the covers back, he heard a clatter at his feet. Sighing, he picked up his cell phone and stared absently at the email filling his screen, reminding him of the discovery he had made before falling asleep the night before.

_What harm can it do going to see her?_

"A lot," he grumbled, making his way down the hallway for the bathroom. A dishevelled looking brunette stared back at him when he looked at his reflection—black circles under his eyes and hair poking out in every direction.

"Hey, buddy," he heard from behind him. Leonard was dressed for work and giving him a wary smile. "How you doing this morning?"

Sheldon scowled at him. "Fine," he snapped, and splashed water onto his face.

"That's good," Leonard said slowly, leaning against the doorframe. "We were a little worried about you after you stormed out last night…"

Reaching for his toothbrush, Sheldon shrugged. "Your concern is unnecessary," he told him. "Also, I will not be requiring your assistance in travelling to work this morning."

Leonard frowned. "Why not?"

"I won't be in until later," he said, running the brush under the water. "I have somewhere I need to be."

* * *

Perhaps what Clara had told him was right. Perhaps no other woman would love him like she did.

He chuckled, and carefully balanced the tumbler on his bare chest, the ice-cold glass searing his skin as he poured himself another round. Missing the glass, the cheap whiskey trickled down his neck, and he swore lightly to himself, tossing the empty bottle onto the concrete floor. The smash ricocheted in his hollow apartment, but he didn't care. All he could feel was the cool stone of the kitchen counter against his back, and the lonely tug in his chest.

Perhaps he was destined to live alone with his destroyed life, his tainted secrets.

Throwing back the remnants of alcohol in his glass, he drew a hand over his blurry eyes, down his prickled cheeks. It didn't matter where he went, or what he did, it would chase him forever. And the one woman who maybe—just maybe—could take him for _him_, insisted on lying to herself to save face. They could be this mess together, if she would let him.

"Amy," he murmured into the empty home, her name feeling perfect on his lips. He could see her angry face, green eyes flashing with uncertainty as she asked him for _the truth. _Never had he so badly wanted to snatch her up and hold her down, _show _her what the truth really was. The truth she knew.

He wanted her so badly, and he would wait forever. He would wait until they could save each other.

* * *

This time he was at her lab, and it was real. Sterile, white—precisely how it should have been.

He stood in the doorway, watching her quietly. It had taken a horrendous bus trip to make his way to her workplace, and he still wasn't sure what drove him to the decision to do as she asked. The lab was quiet, with no chatter of colleagues and no whir of machines at this early hour. Just her, stooped over her computer as she worked, oblivious to her visitor.

"Why did you tell me to come here?" he said out loud, before he could control himself, as though he may have taken the opportunity to walk away, before either one of them could admit he were ever there.

Amy jumped, spinning to face him, her eyes wide. "Sheldon?" she said brokenly, bracing herself against the bench. "What are you doing here?"

Folding his arms over his chest, he clenched his jaw tightly. "Why did you tell me to come here?" he repeated. Just _looking _over at her made him feel sick to his stomach, and that nearly blinding headache began to return.

"Y-you asked me to help you," she stuttered, and he noticed how unsteady she appeared on her feet. "To forget about—"

"I know what I asked," he snapped, glaring at her. "You and I both know that what you are suggesting isn't scientifically viable!"

"Sheldon, I—"

He approached her, and she stopped, fumbling over her own words. "How could you _do _this?" he hissed angrily. "What purpose do you have bringing me here?"

"I didn't think you would come—"

"_Why did you tell me to come here?_" he snarled, barely a foot from her.

She sucked in a deep breath, blinking a shine from her emerald eyes. "I wanted to see you," she said quietly, and her subdued demeanour only infuriated him further.

"You wanted to see me?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "Well, _clearly_, I didn't want to see you—I want you out of my mind, _forever—_"

"Then why _did _you come here, Sheldon?" she countered, her voice wavering. "You said yourself that you _know _I can't help you—"

"I don't know!" he yelled, and she gasped, backing up against the bench with a clatter. "I don't know why I came here! But do you know what? I'll forget about you and everything you did without your help. You mean _nothing _to me."

He spun for the doorway, desperate to flee. Behind him, Amy spoke up, catching him before he could escape. "That's not true, Sheldon, and you know it."

Swallowing the knot in his throat, he looked back at her—a crying, shuddering mess. "Nothing."

* * *

Across town, a certain blonde waitress was having the morning shift from hell. Huffing, she carefully balanced a tray of drinks in one arm, and a stack of plates in the other, whilst trying to ignore the sticky, wet patch of hot coffee that had been slopped down the front of her clean uniform by on the restaurant's regulars.

"_Mr Jetts is a regular—so it _must _have been your fault," _she muttered, mimicking her boss' voice mockingly. Dumping the dishes into the sink, she looked down at her mustard-coloured top and groaned—now she would need to take a trip home to change, and lose precious money she _needed _to earn. "Damn customers…"

Snatching up her handbag, she made her way for the exit, when she suddenly felt a buzzing in her bra. Frowning, she dug her cell phone out of its hiding place and examined the unfamiliar number. "Hello?"

"Penny!" a sweet, southern accent chirped on the other end of the phone. "Mrs Cooper here! I hear my boys are giving you all kinds of trouble?"

* * *

It was late, and she hadn't been home from work that day. Instead, she had spent a long afternoon perched over her research, blindly attempting to produce some productive results, and quickly realised that her quest was hopeless. Stuffy-nosed and red-eyed, she had driven the streets of Glendale mindlessly, until the sun set and her fuel light alerted her of an imminent stop-off at the gas station.

And now she was _here. _

Staring at the tall, grey door of the one apartment she needed to be further from. She was raising her fist, knocking, waiting—as though it wasn't really her at all.

When he opened the door, George looked as stunned to see her as she imagined he would. His blue eyes widened, and the blood-shot whites and his alcohol breath gave away more than he needed to say. "Amy?" he said hoarsely, eying her as though she were a mirage. "What are you doing here?"

She gulped, staring at his bare chest and rugged face. She knew what she wanted to ask, because the words he had said to her bounced around in her mind in an echo—_there were…_things _we used to do together…_

Standing a little taller, she met his eye, and watched his pupils dilate in response. "What kind of _things?_"


	18. Chapter 18

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Next chapter is up! We're certainly getting into the thick of it now, and I'm sure more people will hate me juuuust a little for this one...but trust me, good things are coming! We've gotta work towards it, slowly. Thanks to anyone who gave me get well wishes, or wondered how I was doing-I am feeling much better, slowly recovering from surgery. Anyway, enjoy, and please remember to review...it feeds my sooouuul.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

When he took a breath, all he could smell was honey and cinnamon and sweat and perfection.

She laid, naked and tangled in his arms, her tanned skin sticking to his own. The ceiling fan above them whirred softly, blowing her long, gold hair across the pillow in wispy lengths. A sliver of light peeked through the curtains from the streetlight outside, and he drew a finger over the dips of her ribcage, feeling her smooth skin. She stirred lightly in her sleep, groaning and peering up at him with her hazel eyes. "What are you doing?" she asked him lazily, rubbing her eyes.

He smiled at her and brushed her tangled locks from her face. "Admiring," he said hoarsely.

Smirking, she gave him a knowing look. "Up for another session _already_? What's it been—like an hour…?"

"I love you," he said quickly, and heard her suck in a breath. It was the way she looked, the way she acted, the way she knew him, that made him say it—made him act upon such an unspoken impulse.

She opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again, glancing away. He could feel her skin growing hot as she detangled herself slightly to sit up. "You too," she said with a tight smile, and he instantly knew it wasn't true.

But he took her word for it anyway.

* * *

"What kind of _things?_"

A flash of hot blood gushed through George's body with renewed vigour, and despite his blurred vision, he stepped a little closer, subconsciously licking his lip. _She's here._

This wasn't a moment for words, as she stood there awaiting his promisingly witty or seductive response. He had neither to give her, and instead floated confidently into her space, where he knew he could make any woman's breath airy. He heard it, sure as day—the hitch in her throat and the way her eyes darted across him, reading him.

This was his moment. His moment to draw this enigma into his world and teach her one of many lessons to come.

But it wasn't _his_ woman...but nor was it his brother's. Not any more.

"George?"

He focused on her, the blurred edges of his vision giving her an angelic, murky halo. She looked apprehensive and nervous as she shuffled her weight, awaiting his response. A man in his position knew the signs of uncertainty and hesitance without question; he had to.

She wasn't _anyone's_ any more, and the choice was hers.

Encircling his fingers around her wrist, he tugged her inside, shutting the door behind them. She peeked up at him, and the sheer trace of her curious innocence almost had him tossing her over his shoulder. Repressing the instinct, he breathed steadily—for both of them—and clasped her other wrist, bringing both of them above her head and gently pinning her against the door. He swallowed, the sight of her trembling form gnawing at him from the inside out.

"When I do this," he began, his voice worn and gruff, "how does it make you feel?"

It was her turn to gulp, and she stared back at him hesitantly. "I don't know," she said, and he knew immediately that she was telling the truth.

Holding his breath, he tightened his grip and leant his weight against her, effectively restraining her. She gasped, and he felt his body respond, stiffening against her. _Slowly. _"How about now?"

There was a pause before she responded. "It makes me feel..." she started, a whisper. "Subservient."

Heart racing, he gripped both of her delicate wrists in one hand and brought the other to her jaw, locking his long fingers along the slope of her neck. He could feel her pulse beneath his touch, erratic and quick. "Do you feel afraid?" he asked her quietly.

Her dark, hazy eyes gazed up at him and she shook her head. "Should I be?"

Trust—this was so heavily based on trust, and he had her in the palm of his hand. Somehow, she had faith in his touch that took years to build. "That's for you to decide," he told her, and very lightly tightened his grip. His hands may have entranced her, but did she have faith in _him_? "I'm not."

Her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip and her eyes fluttered away. "I am afraid," she said softly. "But not of you."

Absently, he moved the tips of his fingers down to the hollow of her neck, across the plane of her pale shoulder. "What are you afraid of?"

"Wanting this," she said after a moment, and an involuntary moan escaped her throat. "Wanting _you_..."

He smirked at her body's reaction and drew his lips to her neck, grazing his teeth over the hot flesh. "Don't be," he murmured, and ground his hips against her roughly.

She yelped, and his hand snaked around her neck and knotted in her hair, tugging her head back. "George—"

"Shh..." he hummed as she stilled against his grasp. "And how about if I do this...how does it make you feel?"

Her silky brown locks rubbed softly against his skin, wrapped in a gentle fist, and when she didn't respond, he tilted her head back a little further. Green eyes met his, dark and reflecting the desire that was boiling under his skin. "Out of control," she stuttered.

"Do you like it?" he asked, releasing the knot in her hair and trailing his hand down the contours of her body. He reached her hip and hoisted her against him, and he marveled at the way her lips parted in surprise when she felt him, hard, at her thigh.

"Yes," she managed, inhaling sharply as his fingers deftly popped open the first few buttons of her blouse, cupping the weight of her breast in the palm of his hand.

He bit his lip before continuing. "If I were to give you a direction, an _order_, would you obey me?"

Although her body was thoroughly distracted, he could see her eyes examining him warily. She was processing his question—his request—and putting together the pieces of his puzzle. "I wouldn't know what I was doing," she said timidly.

He grinned cheekily, tracing the edge of her bra. "Even better," he said. "Now would you?"

She nodded slowly, chest heaving. "I think so," she breathed.

"You trust me?" he whispered into the goose bumps on her warm skin. She did, he knew it. He hoped.

The question seemed to pain her some, and she squeezed her eyes closed. "I don't know if I should," she said simply. "But for some reason, I do."

"You can," he said, and brushed his lips against hers, tingles shooting down his spine. She tasted like heaven and hell and everything else in between, as her lips moved against his like a butterfly's wings.

It wasn't until he broke away and reopened his eyes that he realised she was frowning at him ever so slightly, still against him. "This isn't right," she said, squirming beneath his grasp. "You've been drinking…"

He let her go, moving away to look at her, and he watched as her eyes searched him. The moonlight shone into his empty apartment, bouncing off her fair skin and illuminating her angelically. He wanted to explain to her _why_; to explain that it didn't impair him; it couldn't anymore. Instead, he simply nodded.

Amy moved from the doorway, brushing past him to the kitchen. An empty tumbler sat lifeless in the sink, along with a half full bottle of whiskey, leaking its contents down the drain drip by drip. The remnants of broken glass were swept away into the trash, out of her view. "How much?" she asked, turning to him.

He moved to follow her. "What?"

"How much have you had?" she said, folding her arms over her chest.

He contemplated his answer before responding. "Enough to do what I just did, but not enough to look past the fact that maybe you're not quite ready for this," he told her honestly.

She growled at him, and her sudden feistiness surprised him. "I'm so damn sick of people telling me what I am and am not ready for," she snapped. "Who the hell do they think they are, anyway?"

In spite of his better judgment, George chuckled, leaning a hip against the counter across from her. "They're people who care for you, that's who," he suggested.

"What would you know? I hardly know you—for all I know you're just some Texan terror with alcohol problems and a habit of beating women," she hissed, and instantly groaned, drawing a hand over her face. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair, and I know it's not the truth—"

"It's fine," he replied, despite the stab in his chest. "I know you don't believe that."

She fiddled with the edge of her striped cardigan. "I know the odds suggest it's logical, but it seems that no one is ever ready concurrently," she said quietly, and looked up at him. "When I was ready, he wasn't, and when you were ready, I..."

She trailed off, pursing her lips at the floor. George sighed, his tired eyes stinging. "I'm no expert, but I think that's life," he shrugged. "There's no perfect time for anything."

The words sat in the air for a moment as she stared at him, rosy-cheeked and disheveled. Her eyeglasses sat askew on her nose, and the tiny hairclip dangled from her long hair. There was something so enticing—so _beautiful_—about the inexperienced woman standing before him, and George mentally kicked himself for letting her out of his grip. Before he could scold himself any further, she decisively closed the space between them, crashing her lips against his. A bolt of electricity zapped through his system, and he moaned as she raked her nails through his hair. For the second time that night, he rolled his hips against hers, and this time she ran the heel of her palm against the bulge in his jeans. "Jesus, Amy," he hissed, pressing his lips against her own, tasting her all over again. "Maybe we should—"

"You're ready," she mumbled between kisses, looping her fingers around the buckle of his belt, "and I'm ready, so tell me what to do."

He spun them, and she cried as her tailbone hit the marble bench roughly. "Get on the counter," he ordered, and she obliged, awkwardly shuffling her weight up onto the bench top. Without hesitance, he dove for her exposed décolletage, nibbling at her soft skin as he slid he skirt higher up her thighs and stepped between them.

A strangled moan slipped from her lips, one that stopped him in his tracks. "Shel—" she started, and her eyes flew open, slapping a hand over her mouth. George stilled, eyeing her as she began to shake her head slowly, pressing him away gently. "Oh god..."

He sighed as she slid off the counter. "Amy, don't go—"

"I'm sorry," she said croakily, making her way for the door, looking lost. "I want this, I want you to show me all of this...but I can't, not now. I need some time."

And in the next breath, she was gone.

* * *

"I hear my boys are giving you all kinds of trouble?"

Tossing her handbag aside, Penny flopped onto her couch and cradled the cellphone against her neck as she tugged off her shoes. "Not to be rude Mrs Cooper, but how the hell do you know that? Sheldon specifically warned us all not to call you..."

The Southern mother's voice chuckled on the end of the line, and Penny could almost see her shaking her head. "Oh, that boy's threats are as empty as Jacob's kettle," she said dismissively. "This might come as somewhat of a surprise to you, but your Leonard called me just this morning."

Penny dropped her shoe to catch the phone, which was sliding away from her ear. "_Leonard_ called you?"

"Yes indeed," she confirmed nonchalantly. "Dear boy left me a lovely voicemail message when I couldn't get to the phone—he sounded awful concerned about my two boys."

"Well, yeah, Mrs C, we are having a bit of trouble," Penny began awkwardly, selecting her words carefully. "The thing is, we hardly know anything about George, and he's kinda just rocked up in California and is basically set on ruining Sheldon's life—"

"Now let me get this straight," Mary cut in shortly, and Penny instantly fell quiet. "Leonard—who I couldn't get on to by the way, do apologise on my behalf—said that Junior has managed to break up dear Shelly and Amy, and that there are some rumours flying around about his past, am I correct?"

"Yeah, but—"

Mary was nowhere near finished, and simply soared straight over the blonde. "Alright then, first off—I was well aware of the rocky nature of Sheldon and Amy's relationship, and the jealously Shelly harboured toward George since his arrival—he basically told me so himself," she said. "I told Sheldon that—whilst I most certainly do not condone my eldest's flirtatious behaviour—if he wanted to hang onto his little girlfriend he needed to hold up his end of the bargain, or else risk losing her."

Penny said nothing, instead pressed her lips together and shook her head. This woman knew more about her sons than they had given her credit for…

"Secondly—I don't know what kind of _rumours _are buzzing around over there about George but this I'll tell you," she began sternly, "George's life is George's life, and the kind of life he chooses to take part in is his own decision, but the boy's been burned before. That girl ruined his reputation, his career—his entire life here in Texas, and he's started fresh in California, just as he has a right to."

Blinking, Penny frowned at the Texan woman's sudden defensiveness. "With all due respect," she said slowly, ready for retaliation. "George has had his eye on Amy, as you know, and we'd heard that he'd...well...hurt this Clara woman and—"

"Nonsense," she quipped, and sucked in a breath. "Despite his _tastes_, and the shame he has brought upon this family, George is a good boy—you just ask his sister or his Meemaw."

Penny sighed. "Well, perhaps you should come here—straighten out the two of them, maybe even convince George to go back home to Texas—"

"Penny," she cut in impatiently. "I am not about to start making excuses for my boy's behaviour, nor do I condone what he has done in the past, but there is far too much hurt and not enough room for him here in Texas. George lives in California now, and that's where he'll stay—it's where he belongs. I'm most certain he'll fit in far nicer there."

Penny shook her head, gob-smacked. Could it be that Mary Cooper had forced out one of her own children? "What about Sheldon? You know he's not coping, and who knows where he'll go from here."

Yet again, there was a long silence on the line. "Alright," she said tiredly. "Do not speak of this conversation to Sheldon, and don't tell him I'm coming. I'll arrange a flight for a few days time and call you back with the details."

Penny let out a sigh of relief, falling back against the cushions. "Thank you, Mrs Cooper—you have no idea how much Sheldon needs you right now."

"Oh, I have an inkling," she said. "I'll see you in a couple days time."

The line went dead, and Penny tossed the phone aside, chewing her lip. Whilst she didn't know Mary Cooper particularly well, the conversation seemed odd, to say the least. Why push her eldest son away with such ease, and yet defend him if necessary?

Snatching up her phone once again, she dialed the number of the person who had gone behind her back. "Hiya, Penny," her boyfriend chirped when he answered the call. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Don't 'hiya Penny' me, Leonard Hofstadter—you called Sheldon's mom?" she hissed, and he silenced immediately. "After he warned us not to—what were you thinking?"

He huffed. "Penny, he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this before—hold on, how did you know I'd called her?"

"She couldn't get on to you and called me instead," she said dismissively, launching herself from the couch to get changed. "What the hell, Leonard?"

"I told you—after last night, I knew I had to do something, the guy's a mess," he said. "This morning he told me he didn't need a ride to work and wouldn't tell me where he was going."

Rifling through her messy drawers in her bedroom in search for a substitute vest, Penny groaned. "Did you find out where he went?"

"No, he just arrived at work an hour ago, and seemed agitated," he paused, and she could hear him shutting what was presumably his lab door. "I decided it was time to bring Mrs Cooper into this."

Penny hopped on one foot as she pulled on a clean skirt, the cellphone jammed against her cheek. "Well, now she's coming out here," she said flatly, and decided to tell Leonard all about the strange call she'd just had. "And get this..."

* * *

He cradled the phone in his fingers, scrolling back and forth through the abundance of messages haunting his every move. A gush of cool night air swept over him, mixed with the spicy scent of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke, and he let out a long sigh. Behind him, the bar thumped with dance beats and nightlife, and the cold brick wall against his back was soothing.

There was a shuffle to his right, and the distinct click of a high heel. "Shouldn't you be serving drinks?"

Raising his head, he looked over the tall, slender woman, a smoke between her fingers. It was the raven-haired beauty he had met once before. "I'm on a break," he said, and drew his focus back to the phone in his hand.

"I just adore that Southern accent of yours," she purred, slinking closer to him. He eyed her closely, her fawn-like legs and tight gold dress and the copious quantities of eye make-up framing her dark eyes. "Where you from?"

"Not here, that's for sure," he murmured, and she giggled lightly. The back of the bar was dimly lit, and he wondered momentarily whether she'd take a tumble in her ridiculously high shoes. "Is there something I can do for you, miss?"

Grinning, she took another drag of her cigarette, and stubbed it out beneath her toe. "'Miss'—so polite," she smirked, and drew a long fingernail lightly over the arm of his shirt. "Well, I was just heading home, and thought that perhaps you were finished your shift, and looking for a place to go…"

George chewed his lip, slipping his phone back into his pocket. This young woman would have barely been twenty-five. "I don't think you even know what you're asking," he said softly, raising an eyebrow.

She scoffed, folding her arms over her overexposed bust. "I happen to know exactly what I'm asking," she said, and looked up at him seductively. "I'm asking you to go home with me."

"To…?" he said huskily, hooking his thumbs into the loops of his jeans. If she wanted him, she would have to work for it.

Shaking back her dark locks, she licked her lower lip and leant in. "To _fuck_," she whispered, and grinned. "Come on cowboy—show me what you're made of."

Chuckling, he raised an eyebrow at her. "I see," he growled, and as she leant in just a little further, he spun them, her back hitting the bricks as he loomed above her. Her chocolate eyes stared back at him, wide and startled, as he placed a hand on the wall beside her head. "Are you sure about that, sweetheart?"

The brunette's breath quickened, hot on his lips. He watched as her eyes flashed between curious and hesitant, over and over. This was one cowboy that couldn't be reined in, few women could. "Sure," she said slowly.

He let a hand wander to her thigh and gazed at her, pleading his body to feel _something_. But she was nothing special, nothing different. Nothing he couldn't have picked up back home in Texas in an instant. "I'm sorry," he said, and pushed away.

She shook herself off and huffed, scowling at him. "Fine, be that way!" she snapped, storming off into the car park.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his thick hair and plucked his cell phone from his pocket once again. He scrolled through the messages and clicked on her name, deciding he needed to put an end to this. "Clara," he said as she picked up, "stay the fuck out of my life."

* * *

"Amy, we want to apologise."

Sitting across from her two best friends, Amy shuffled in her seat. The two women had finally cornered her at her lab that afternoon, after she had ignored a deluge of their text messages and phone calls spanning across the last few days. They had finally roped her into accompanying them to a local restaurant, and Amy had no escape or flimsy excuse to get away. Now, the trio sat in a booth with sticky green upholstery, awaiting their meals.

Bernadette nodded vehemently. "It wasn't our place to get involved in your business with George..."

"We're really sorry," Penny continued, grabbing her hand across the wooden table. "I was worried about you and wanted to help you see what I thought was right, but I know now that this is something you need to work through on your own."

"Will you forgive us?" Bernadette asked gently.

"We'll buy you dinner?" her best friend added, smiling uncertainly.

Biting her lip, Amy tried not to smirk at their pouting faces. Truth be told, her frustration with her prying besties had faded days ago, and laid instead with herself. "How could I resist these two cute faces," she said, and the two women perked up immediately. "I forgive you. But please—no more snooping around into people's backgrounds."

"We won't, don't worry," Penny said quickly, tapping Amy's hand happily before pulling it away. "It's not our place to get involved."

Bernadette smiled proudly at the waitress and looked back to Amy. "So where have you been these past couple of days? We've been worried..."

Amy looked between the two concerned blondes and sighed, taking a long sip from her syrupy wine before speaking. "I'm sorry, I've just needed some time to myself," she said wearily.

"Well you could have told us so!" Penny said, folding her arms over her chest.

Amy shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm fine, I've been busy at work, doing some long hours—"

"You don't look 'fine'," Bernadette said, her ringlets bouncing as she shook her head. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

Penny untangled her scarf from her neck and put it on the seat beside her. "Please tell us what's been going on," she said softly, leaning forward onto her forearms. "I know you're struggling with the break-up, Sheldon is too—and that's perfectly normal."

Amy winced, at both the mention of the 'break-up' and Sheldon's name. "Penny, I'm quite fine, there's no need to—"

Next to her, Bernadette latched onto her arm. "You don't have to hide _anything _from us—we won't judge you if you've made a choice..."

Amy let out a slow breath. "George and I haven't had sex, if that's what you're asking," she said bitterly, and instantly felt guilty. "And even if I were to 'choose' George, I doubt there would be much of a friendship between us any more."

Penny frowned. "Ames, we love you, and who you decide to date isn't our choice," she said. "You're my best friend, and I don't want to lose you from my life."

"And neither do I," Bernadette agreed, smiling. "We will make this work, regardless of what you decide to do."

Amy smiled at her two friends, overwhelmed by their affectionate words. Despite their positive reinforcement, there could be no denying that picking George to be her mate would tear a hole in their group, and leave her constantly on the outer. Glancing away, she picked at the corner of the laminated menu in front of her. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"So are you okay?" Penny asked her, ducking her head to look at the neurobiologist.

Taking a deep breath, Amy looked up and took another sip of her wine. "I'm okay," she said, her voice low amongst the loud chatter in the brightly lit restaurant. "Sheldon came to see me the other day at the lab, and it shook me up."

She ground her teeth, expecting her girlfriends to jump in with a multitude of questions. Neither did, instead they allowed her to speak, waiting patiently. "He wanted me to erase his memory of me, even though he is well aware that I can't perform such a procedure. We fought, and he stormed out, and..."

The words didn't seem to want to come out of her mouth, and Bernadette prompted her after a moment. "And...?"

"I went to George's," she blurted, lowering her head. "When you sent me that message the other day, about Clara, I confronted him and never gave him a chance to explain—"

"Maybe because he didn't _deserve_ a chance to—ow!" Penny growled, but was interrupted by Bernadette, who slapped her arm.

Bernadette smiled sweetly at Amy, while Penny rubbed her arm. "Continue."

"Neither of you _know_ George like I do, and I trust him," Amy said, and saw her friends shuffle uncomfortably. "There's more to it than what it seems."

A waiter approached with their meals, setting them down and giving Penny a suggestive smirk. "For the lovely ladies," he said smoothly.

Penny blanched and waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, back to the kitchen..."

Amy dug straight in to her food, thankful for the opportunity to let the topic die. Clearing her throat, she poked the ravioli around her plate. _Please drop this, please drop this…_

"So..." Bernadette said slowly. "What happened?"

When she glanced up again, Amy realised that they were staring at her expectantly. She felt her cheeks grow hot as she recalled the events from nights ago. "I don't want to talk about it," she said, and her friends nodded understandingly, returning to their meals.

She didn't want to talk about it, and that was the truth...because she still didn't know what to make of it. She still didn't know how she felt, and wondered if she ever would.

* * *

It was the first Saturday in weeks that Sheldon had desperately wished for his friends' company.

Since his impromptu visit to Amy's lab days earlier, he had immersed himself in his work, operating on little sleep and many tiresome hours. The truth was, he had little new research to undertake, and was recycling old papers and assisting Leonard in his experimental work. _Anything_ to provide his mind with an outlet—a space where he didn't have to think about _her_.

He dunked his tea bag into the boiling water a final time, watching the brown liquid bleed into the clear before tugging it out. He poured precisely six ounces of milk into his cereal, which comprised of exactly forty individual Honey Puffs. He measured a flat teaspoon of sugar for his tea and stirred it through, for no longer than eight seconds.

Having an outlet was working, definitely. Things were as they should have been.

Except for Leonard, who had insisted he and Penny had an important errand to run that morning and that they would need to postpone their Dr Who-athon. Now he had no partner to distract him, and the thought of watching six hours worth of Dr Who reruns without someone to bounce an in-depth analysis off seemed pointless.

So, he'd opted for a rare 'sleep-in' and late breakfast, breaking routine completely. He felt a little anxious, although undeniably enthralled, by the change of events, and was jittery to catch up on what he'd missed. There was laundry to be sorted and a grocery list to be compiled. Not to mention another six stars to be collected on Super Mario '64.

He would make this work, definitely. Things would be as they should.

Perhaps he would call Howard and Rajesh, invite them over to assist him. There was plenty to do.

He shoveled a spoonful of the sweet cereal into his mouth and took a gulp of tea, and once the contents of both were gone, ran the tap hot to clean the dishes. Not bothering with rubber gloves, he clenched his teeth as the scorching water reddened his hands, and he scrubbed at the remnants of the food roughly.

"Sheldon?" Leonard's voice came from behind him as the door opened. "I've got a surprise for you..."

"Hold your horses," Sheldon muttered, and lined up his bowl on the dish rack, hands dripping. He turned around and felt his heart jump just a little at the slender brunette in the doorway, wearing a warm smile and holding a suitcase in her hand. "Mom?"

But that wasn't the only surprise. Penny rounded the corner with a figure of an older, familiar woman grasping her arm, her long, silver hair hanging down over her bosom in a plait Sheldon knew too well. Her blue eyes sparkled at him, and she gave him her kind, wrinkled smile.

"Meemaw?"


	19. Chapter 19

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Not a whole lot to say, except for here's the new chapter! The next one will be out pretty soon following this one-I am very excited to be introducing a new character who will be pushing our couple along to where we want them to be, so keep an eye out!

Shame I have to say this at this late stage in the story, but I will anyway, in light of more recent events-no flaming please. Let's go off one of my wonderful Pa's favourite expressions shall we: if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. If anyone has any concerns as to Amy's character, please see my answer on my tumblr (Shamylicious) to anon's comment, explaining why (yes) she is 'out of character'.

Would love to hear your thoughts, be sure to review and-most importantly-enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

A cool, autumn wind rushed around his legs in the early evening light, rustling the plastic bags he had looped through his fingers in each hand. It was nearing nightfall, and the sun had disappeared from the sky, leaving an indigo sky in its wake. His neat and tidy neighbourhood was quiet, families readying themselves for another routine evening, but he was still a little way from home.

Gripping the bags a little tighter, he hunched his shoulders and shivered in the brisk evening air. His mother had waited and waited for his father to arrive home from work, and when he hadn't, had requested he take a trip to the store to buy milk for the week ahead. It wasn't usually his job—he wasn't usually home this time of year—but he begrudgingly relented, taking the mile long stroll to the store, and convincing himself that the surge of endorphins would do him good.

He made his way down the sidewalk, sure to avoid the cracks in the pavement, counting each slab as he went. If he got home quick enough, perhaps he could enjoy some quiet time with his mother before his family arrived home. If they arrived home.

Behind him, there was a loud howl of laughter and yelling, and the distinct sound of a wolf whistle. In the quiet street, the male voices echoed, and he ducked his head, picking up the pace slightly. He didn't want trouble; not this time.

"_Hey, look—it's the freak's freak brother!"_

"_Slow down, retard, we wanna talk to you!"_

He could hear their footsteps growing nearer, pounding the pavement, and could almost smell the alcohol from where he was. His heart started to race, and he could feel himself beginning to shake—they knew him, and they knew George.

"_Oh look—he's running away from us!"_

"_Do you recon he's scared?"_

"_Wouldn't surprise me—his brother's a pussy too…"_

Lifting his feet, he began to run as quickly as he could, puffing loudly. He was only a few more blocks from his mother's home—not long and he would be safe. The red fall leaves beneath his feet were slick with moisture, and before he could right himself, he slipped and fell flat onto his back, the cartons of milk exploding at his side.

"Well look here!" he heard one of his tormentors sneer, and peered up to see a cruel face staring down at him. "Isn't this a sight…"

He groped for the remnants of his groceries, avoiding their eye, but was pushed down once again, this time landing straight in the puddle of white liquid. "I'm warning you, leave me alone or I'll—"

"You'll _what?_" the other teenager taunted, bending down to his level. "Call your _mommy? _Or your drunk daddy?"

The group sniggered, and he realised that he was wildly outnumbered, face down on the concrete. He pushed up onto all fours, and instantly felt the toe of a boot connect with his ribcage, sucking the wind from his lungs. Coughing and spluttering, he curled onto his side, feeling the cold milk soak through his clothing, numbing his body.

"Maybe he likes that, Joe, like his weirdo brother!" one of them laughed, and kicked into his hipbone. He groaned, and held his breath as another hard thump slammed down onto his back, and another, and another. After a while, he felt wet and cold and sore, and couldn't feel anything else. He could only see the pale puddle beneath him growing pink, and slowly blurring away. He could only hear the laughter, and the taunts, and the words about his family he never wanted to hear again.

And he wondered if anyone would ever find him.

* * *

"_Meemaw?"_

Tearing across the room, Sheldon latched onto his frail, plump grandmother with all of his might, nearly knocking her flat. He breathed in her comforting scent as he crumpled around her—a rush of wilting roses and freshly baked bread and a dusty, cosy home filling his senses.

Against his cheek, he heard her laugh, raspy as ever, and wrap her arms around him. "Moonpie!" she cooed, and the pet name brought a smile to his face. "Be gentle with your old Meemaw, she ain't what she used to be!"

Detangling himself, he pulled away and noticed Penny suppress a giggle. "You have no idea how long I have waited to hear her call you that," she said with a smirk, steadying the older lady at her side.

Sheldon considered scowling at the blonde, but was too busy taking in the presence of his favourite relative. Her silver hair was swept back from her face with a tortoiseshell pin, and the pink lipstick creased in her thinning lips as it always had. "Meemaw," he said again, blinking at her. "You're here—why are you here?"

Mary, who was making herself quite at home in their small living room, called out from behind them. "What Sheldon _means _is 'please, do come in', and 'don't mind that I haven't so much as said _boo_ to my dear mother'," she quipped, and Sheldon resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"_Mom,_" he whined, turning to her. "Whilst it is delightful that you are here, not once has Meemaw visited me here California, and given the rare occurrence, it is perfectly reasonable that I am more excited to see her."

"Well Mary, that most certainly sound like our Sheldon," his Meemaw said with a smile as she shuffled her way into the apartment. As she brushed by him, she reached up to cup his cheek, slightly roughened fingertips grazing his stubble. "But you've changed—you've got more meat on you, for one thing, and grown a man's shoulders—and did you get taller?"

He grinned down at her like a child. "I can assure you, Meemaw, I haven't grown an inch since I last saw you—I have the charts to prove it…"

He trailed off as she gazed at him, her hand now resting on the left side of his chest. "And there's pain in here too, isn't there, Moonpie?" she murmured, tapping her hand against his heart.

Swallowing, he opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Penny, who was attempting to extract his grandmother's purse out from under her arm. "Let me take that for you!" she said, and placed the handbag down. "Take a seat—can I get you a drink?"

His Meemaw smiled appreciatively at her, and edged herself into the armchair. "Water please, dear."

"Mrs Cooper?" Leonard said, appearing in the hallway. "There's really no need for the two of you to stay in a hotel, there's plenty of room here—Sheldon can take the couch, and I can stay with Penny—"

Mary shook her head, placing the carton of milk back inside the fridge door. "Nonsense! It's only one night, and we don't want to cause a fuss."

Sheldon, who was still lingering in the doorway, examined the unfolding scene before him with narrowed eyes. "You're here," he repeated again quietly, watching as his mother carried over the steaming drinks. His gaze snapped to Leonard, who was very deliberately avoiding eye contact. "_You _told her!"

Leonard let out an exasperated sigh and tossed his hands in the air. "Yes, I told your mother, but what was I supposed to do, Sheldon? You've been a mess ever since—"

"Don't you dare say another word—"

"Sheldon," Mary's voice resonated sharply from the couch. "Yes, Leonard and Penny called to ask for my help, and yes, we're all very concerned about you. This break up with Amy has taken its toll on you."

Pursing his lips, he stared at the carpet and remained quiet. He didn't _need _their help—he didn't need anyone's help—he was doing just fine on his own. "I'm fine," he said finally, balling his fists at his side.

"Well then, come and take a seat with us and drink your tea," Mary said with a smile. "No use in sulking in the doorway—your Meemaw and I travelled a long way to see you!"

Glaring at Leonard and Penny, Sheldon begrudgingly settled into his spot. "If this is some kind of intervention you most certainly are not going to succeed—"

"Hush now and drink your tea," Meemaw said, leaning forward and gripping his kneecap between her aged fingers. "There's no need to fret."

He watched her smile tightly back at him, the pale sunspots on her cheeks reminding him of her days spent tending to her garden, with her floppy yellow hat and worn green gloves. Shuffling the hot cup in his hands, he spoke without realising he was doing so. "Do you still wear that hat, Meemaw? When you garden?"

She grinned at him. "Oh, Moonpie, I don't get out a whole lot these days—besides, it's not quite the same without my little helper beside me."

"Maybe I could come home with you," he said quickly, too quickly. "I may not be little any more, but I can still be your helper—I could mow the lawns and fix up that old maple out front—"

Across from him, swinging on a desk chair, Leonard cleared his throat. "Sheldon," he said, frowning. "You can't go back to Texas—you've got a job here, and I know that's not really what you want."

"You'd have to find a new place, and who would there be to mess up your coke order with Dr Pepper?" Penny added, smirking.

Sheldon shook his head. "You'd have me, wouldn't you, Mom?" he said, smiling brightly at her. "And don't worry—East Texas sure has its fair share of air-headed waitresses to mix up my order."

Next to him, his mother sighed and looked to his two other friends. "Penny, Leonard—would you mind if we had a moment alone with Sheldon?"

"Sure," Leonard said softly, rising from his chair and heading for the door, Penny in tow. The door clicked shut, and Sheldon felt uneasy—trapped between the two women who had influenced his life so greatly.

"Shelly," his mother said softly, angling herself toward him. "I know you felt very strongly for Amy, and that you are struggling with her absence from your life, but this is not like the last time—I can't go bringing Amy here and forcing the two of you back together."

Sheldon stared down into his cup, cringing at the mention of her name, and at how much his mother knew. "Mom—"

She held up a hand to silence him. "I warned you about keeping up your end of the deal—and I'm not sure what exactly has happened to cause this little spat, and perhaps it was your brother—"

"It was," he hissed. "And you promised me George wasn't trying to steal her away from me—you promised!"

Mary folded her arms over her blue blouse, frowning beneath her neatly cut fringe. "I promised no such thing! The two of you have simply had a misunderstanding—"

"Do you think it was a misunderstanding when I saw him lying between her legs?" he quipped, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

His mother blanched, opening and closing her mouth to speak. "I—well—"

"Mary," Meemaw said suddenly, having been silent for some time. "Perhaps that is where you should be—with Junior."

She looked between her own mother and her son, blue eyes wide. "But Shelly and I haven't finished—"

"_Mary,_" his grandmother said, a firmness in her voice that made Sheldon shiver. "Perhaps that would be best."

Nodding, Mary stood and looped her handbag over her shoulder, and made her way to the door. "I'll come by later, Shelly, and have dinner with you and your friends."

Once again, the apartment door closed, and a thick silence settled in the room. Running a hand over his face, Sheldon sighed. "I do apologise, Meemaw, you didn't need to hear that kind of foul talk."

She leant back in her seat, smoothing her floral skirt. "No matter, Moonpie, I was young once, too," she said. "Your mother wasn't exactly handling that with grace either."

He clenched his jaw, feeling anger rise up in him all over again. "George has her believing he's some kind of innocent bystander—and she _knows _that isn't the case…"

"Tell me what happened," she said, tilting her head. "I want to hear it from _you._"

For a moment, it felt like weeks upon weeks of memories were crashing around him, but they seemed hollow and faint. "I lost her," he said weakly, and looked back at his Meemaw. "To my own brother."

She nodded slowly. "When you were a boy, and you and your sister and Junior would stay with your Pop-pop and I, it would be a constant competition," she began, and smiled at him. "Who could rush down for breakfast first? Who was a quarter inch taller? Who knew their multiplication tables faster, better?" She shook her head and sighed. "Of course, you would always win, but the two of you were streets apart—offering things the other couldn't; _wouldn't_. Yet it was always your mission to outdo one another, no matter the circumstances."

Sheldon gazed at his dear grandmother, with her hands clasped in her lap, smiling fondly at him. He remembered those times, too—possibly better than she would ever recall.

"Do you remember, Sheldon, when you were a teenager—home from college—and George arrived home from school with his very first A grade?" she asked him.

How could he forget? His brother had flown through the door, kissed his busy mother on the cheek, and announced his first A on a recent English essay. Grinning widely, he had slapped it down on the kitchen table in front of Sheldon, and their visiting grandmother had told him how proud she was. "I remember," he said.

"Now, what was it you said to him that day?" she squinted, as though she were struggling to remember. Sheldon knew she wasn't. "That's right—you accused him of changing the grade by having intimate relations with the teacher, when—in fact—George had earned that mark all by himself."

Sheldon pursed his lips and felt his cheeks grow warm for the second time. "I don't see what relevance that has to this situation—"

"Junior didn't use his charm or his looks to change that grade—you felt he had gone out of his way to try and hurt you," she said, meeting his eye. "Someone gave him that mark because they approved of his work—because he deserved it."

He was silent for a moment, processing her words. "Do you think they deserve each other?" he whispered, straining for every word.

"No, Moonpie," she said gently. "I think that you spend far too much time worrying about what George _is _doing to worry about what you're _not _doing. Perhaps Amy does like him—he is a very handsome, charismatic young man—and perhaps he has attracted her attention without intending on hurting you directly, but where will all this pointless hurting get you in the end?"

Blinking, he felt his eyes begin to burn, and looked into his lap. "_I _deserve her, not him," he said quietly.

Meemaw drew herself up from her spot in the armchair and slipped into the spot beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "You've got to embrace everything that makes you _you_—that's what your Amy fell for," she tugged a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to him. "The brilliant, confident, quirky young man that your brother never was, and will never be."

He nodded, a small sob escaping his throat as he leant his head against her chest. She smoothed the hair on his head soothingly, humming to him softly. "This is the first time I've held you whilst you cried since you were a child—and you are more of man now than you've ever been," she told him quietly. "Sometimes, Moonpie, we've got to hurt before we can learn how to feel."

* * *

He was awoken to a loud thudding against his apartment door, and groaned as he rolled over in his bundled sheets, peering out from behind tired eyes to find out the time. Sun was blaring through his curtain-less windows, and he buried himself beneath the blankets, grumbling. It wasn't even midday, and he'd had a late night—not to mention the throbbing headache behind his eyes…

"Junior! I know you're in there now let your mother in!"

The sound of his mother's shrill voice had him leaping from the mattress and tossing a t-shirt over his head. Stumbling toward the door, he kicked aside a pile of dirty laundry and rubbed at his eyes. "Coming!" he called, and checked the sink for empty whiskey bottles. Luckily, there weren't any.

He swung open the door, and gave his mother his most dashing smile. "Mom!" he said, and his smile faltered at the disapproving look on her weary face. "You didn't tell me you were dropping by Glendale."

"Don't get cheeky with me young man," she snapped, and pushed past him into his apartment. "Your Meemaw and I flew out here in a big hurry after one of Sheldon's friends called us—"

"_Meemaw's _here?" George said, closing the door and following her inside. "Where is she?"

"With Sheldon," his mother said, as she busily stepped over that carefully placed pile of laundry, wrinkling her nose. "Junior—is this entire apartment one room?"

"I believe it's called 'open plan living'," he told her, leaning against the kitchen bench. "And no—the bathroom is over there."

Mary returned her attention to her oldest son, and took a deep breath. "Leonard and Penny contacted me—it seems Sheldon has been quite a wreck since his break up with Amy," she eyed him, and despite being small in stature the woman still managed to make him nervous. "You don't happen to know anything about that, do you?"

He looked at the ceiling. "I may," he said slowly.

"George," Mary chided, both hands on her narrow hips. "You assured me weeks ago that you had nothing to with this—"

"Mom—"

"How could you do this, to your only brother?" she scowled. "After everything that happened back home in Texas I thought you would have learned! But no—you come all the way out here to start a whole new life and bed your brother's girlfriend in a heartbeat—"

George felt his cheeks flush. "I didn't _bed _Amy, Mom, for God's sake—"

"And don't you _d__are _use the Lord's name in vein, mister! You may be in the free, golden state of California but He is everywhere," she sighed, and closed her eyes briefly before reopening them. "The day you told me you were leaving you promised me you'd behave, and be kind to your brother, and now you go and do this?"

"You mean the day _you _told me I was leaving," he retorted, and she shifted her gaze. "I know what I promised, but you can't just come in here all guns blazing and blame this entire situation on me—"

Mary glared at him. "I know Shelly isn't perfect—he has above and beyond his fair share of problems—but he certainly did not need you interfering with the only relationship he has ever had—"

"It was over before it even began!" George said, exasperated. "Sheldon was the one who broke it off with her, not Amy—"

"What did you do, George?" his mother hissed, stepping closer to him. "If you didn't sleep with her, what did you do?"

He hesitated, unsure of what to tell her. "I suppose there was an attraction between us, and she saw that I could give her what Sheldon can't—"

"And you just leapt at the opportunity to snatch up another innocent young girl?" Mary said bitterly.

The room fell silent, and George took a moment to respond. "That's not fair, and you know it," he said evenly. She huffed and shifted her gaze. "I really like her, Mom—she's not like all the rest, she could be good for me—"

"She's good for _Sheldon, _George, not you," she said quietly, pursing her lips together finely. "You may be used to getting what you want in these situations but this is wrong—you can't hurt your brother."

"I hadn't meant to," he admitted, and whilst it wasn't the complete truth, a part of him meant it sincerely. "I saw her, and it just happened, and now I can hardly stay away—"

"Well _try,_" she said. "She may be the only chance he's got—"

George shook his head. "She may be the only chance _I've _got!" he cried, and restrained himself from continuing to yell at the stubborn woman. "Besides, she doesn't want to be with him any more, and he's made it pretty clear he doesn't want to be with her either."

Mary was quiet, staring at the concrete floor intently. "You're a grown man, Junior, and I can't tell you what to do any more," she said. "But after everything you've been through, after all the shame you've put this family through, I thought you'd know better."

"Well, clearly I don't," he said angrily. "Clearly I'm too fucking dumb to know any better."

His mother visibly cringed at the use of the swear word, but ignored his comment. "Amy is right for Sheldon; he just needs to make some changes of his own," she said. "There are plenty more fish out there in the sea for you, but for Sheldon, I'm not so sure."

_There are no more fish in the sea, _he thought, _they've all floated to the surface, and left me at the bottom._

After a moment, she moved to pat his arm. "Come by and have dinner with us all tonight—with Sheldon and his friends—you can apologise to him yourself, and I can mediate—"

He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. "So what, now you're going to pick up the pieces, have us kiss and make up?" he said, and folded his own arms over his chest. "I can't do that, Mom, I _won't_—and neither will he."

"You owe him that much, George—"

"I don't owe him anything!" he yelled, and she quietened, watching his heaving chest. "He has done _nothing _for me."

Mary flicked her fingers through her fringe and sighed. "I did not come all this way to make you see the error in your ways—although it would be nice if you'd _try,_" she said. "I came here to console Sheldon, and help him get back on his feet."

Whilst George loved his mother dearly, and admired her for her continued strength across her lifetime, it was times like this he saw a cold, bitter woman on her own Godly mission. "Your grandmother and I are here for one night only—we leave early tomorrow," she said, striding toward the front door. "I will not bring Meemaw all this way to see you in her frail state—she's come far enough. If you would like to see her, you'll just have to make the effort to come by Sheldon's apartment this evening."

He ground his teeth and nodded tersely at her. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"Mrs Cooper, so nice to see you again!" Howard said with a smile as he stepped into Leonard and Sheldon's apartment, Raj and Bernadette close behind him. He gave the familiar Texan a kiss on the cheek, and smiled past her to the older woman sitting on the couch nearby. "And this must be…your sister?"

Mary laughed, shaking a finger at him. "Howard—charming as ever. This is my mother, Mrs Hardman," she said. "Sheldon's Meemaw."

The elderly woman dismissed her daughter's introduction with the wave of a bejewelled hand. "You can call me Grace," she said, and then contemplated it. "Or Meemaw."

"And who is this darling young thing at your side?" Mary enquired, eyeing the petite blonde beside him.

"Hi Mrs Cooper!" Raj interrupted, pushing past. "You remember me don't you?"

She cocked her head and nodded. "Oh yes—Rajesh, the young Indian man with the drinking problems and the troubles talking to girls."

"I'm Bernadette, Howard's wife," Bernadette said, ignoring Raj, who was taking a seat beside Grace.

"Lovely to meet you," she said, and her eye fell to her chest. "I do like your cross—although Sheldon tells me we're not quite on the same team."

Bernadette leant around to glare at Sheldon, who was busying himself in the kitchen. "Does he now?"

Wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulders, Howard steered them to the couch. "You've still got one up on me," he joked.

"Okay everyone, dinner's ready," Leonard called, balancing numerous plates in his arms. "We've got pizza, pizza and more pizza!"

Sheldon settled into his spot and helped himself to a box nearby. "If _someone _had agreed to cook her famous meatloaf we wouldn't have to be settling for half-cold pizza…"

Mary raised an eyebrow at her son and slapped the back of his hand as he drew the food to his mouth. "I want to hear a prayer out of you before one bite goes into that mouth."

The group simultaneously slowed their eating and waited for Sheldon. He rolled his eyes. "Alright," he began. "God is great, God is good, let us thank Him for our food."

Meemaw eyed him with a smirk. "The Lord thinks that was a pretty poor effort," she said.

"I'm out of practice," he replied, his mouth stuffed full. "And hungry."

Penny cleared her throat. "So, Mrs Hardman—"

"Meemaw."

"Meemaw," Penny said uneasily, looking to Leonard, who bit down a grin. "It has been so wonderful to finally meet you—we've heard a lot about you over the years from Sheldon."

The grandmother, who was struggling to balance her pizza without loosing the topping, nodded proudly in her grandson's direction. "Moonpie always was very fond of me," she said. "When Mary told me she was dropping by for a short visit I decided it was time to come along—haven't go much gas left in the tank now."

From the floor, Raj snorted lightly. "You were right—she _does _call him Moonpie!"

"Do you like it here, Grace?" Bernadette asked, after tapping Raj in the leg with her foot.

Grace tilted her head from side to side indecisively, her long silver braid swinging slightly. "Well, it most certainly is very hip," she said in her raspy voice, and Bernadette giggled at the old woman's word choice. "But I don't believe it's for me."

A sharp knock at the door interrupted their dinner, and Mary was on her feet and clambering her way over before anyone else had time to react. "I'll get it!"

Sheldon watched her from the couch, tense. Perhaps Penny had invited Amy, or perhaps even his mother had invited her…or perhaps it was the pizza deliveryman, back to inform them of the incorrect change…

"Oh, look who it is!" his mother said, a giant, fake smile painted on her face as his brawny brother stepped over the threshold, looking cautious. "George has come by to visit!"

In an instant, Sheldon was out of his spot, heart racing. He glowered at his sibling, and then at his mother. "What is _he _doing here?" he growled.

George followed his mother part way, and then approached his Meemaw. "I'm here to see Meemaw," he said shortly. "And Mom asked me to come."

"I most certainly did not—you decided to pop by of your own accord—"

Leaning down to give his grandmother a chaste embrace, George smiled tightly. "Hi, Meemaw," he said.

"Junior," Meemaw said warmly, and rubbed a hand over her cheek. "I've missed having you round home."

The group was quiet, watching the exchange as Mary carried on with her meal, unfazed. "Missed you, too," he said quietly.

Sheldon could feel his hands shaking at his sides, and the rare instinct to lunge across the living room at his brother building thickly in his chest. The pure fear of hurting his beloved grandmother, he believed, was the only thing containing his unusual fury. "You have no right to be here," he snarled instead, keeping his feet firmly planted.

His mother grasped his hand, attempting to calm him. "Shelly, dear, your brother wants to apologise—"

"No, I don't," George retaliated, rising from his kneeled position beside Grace and folding his arms over his chest defensively. "There's nothing to apologise for."

"_Nothing to apologise for?_" Sheldon growled. "How about ruining my relationship? _Stealing _my girlfriend?"

George scoffed. "I didn't steal Amy away from you—she has a right to make her own decisions, and that's what she did—"

"George, perhaps you should leave—I'm more than happy to drive your grandmother over to your place for supper," Leonard tried, rising from his seat.

Sheldon stepped closer, still seeming small beneath George's large frame. "Because _you _forced her into it—"

"Did it ever occur to you, Sheldon, that maybe I _like _Amy? Or that maybe she likes me?" George said, glaring at him. "Or were you too busy thinking about yourself to care?"

"You wouldn't know the first thing about feeling anything for _anyone_—"

"_Or,_" George said, hovering above him menacingly, "were you too busy sulking over the fact that she never loved you in the first place?"

"Enough!" their Meemaw's voice boomed, and the two brothers froze immediately. She slowly rose from her spot, to stand hunched between them. "The two of you ought to be ashamed of yourselves, fighting like dogs over meat—what would your Pop-pop think?"

Sheldon breathed heavily, and stared at the floor, the sound of his grandmother's scolding voice shaking him like nothing else. "Meemaw—"

"I am not finished!" she snapped, and looked to her daughter, who was dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. "And _you_—what were you thinking, sending George here under these fragile terms?"

The Texan mother looked between her brawling sons indifferently. "They're young boys—they've just got to let it out!" she said, and gestured with her hands in their direction. "They're doing a fine job."

"Mary," Grace said sternly, her voice weary. "They are not boys, they are grown men, and throwing them in the ring is not going to solve anything—clearly their problems lie deeper than what we see on the surface. Our coming here was a mistake."

"I came here to help them sort out their differences—"

"Your coming here has been more hindrance than help," Sheldon said lowly, and turned to his grandmother. "I'm sorry, Meemaw."

With that, he stormed away from the group and down the hall, slamming his bedroom door shut.

* * *

Mary raised her fist to the door and knocked lightly, bracing herself for the worst. "Shelly?" she said, and knocked again. "Shelly, I'm coming in."

There was a rustle of sheets, and light poured into the dark bedroom. "Just go away!" he groaned, but she ignored him, perching on the edge of his bed tentatively.

"Your Meemaw was right," she told him honestly, rubbing at the swell beneath the covers that was clearly him. "I shouldn't have told George to come here."

"And you're realising this _now_?"

She huffed, praying for patience. "She was also right about something else," she said quietly, and Sheldon stilled, listening. "We never should have come here. You're old enough now to sort these issues out on your own—no matter how badly I want to help you."

The edge of his navy, star-dotted doona edged down to reveal his eyes, nothing more. "But you always come when I need you," he said.

"That's right—I do," she replied, smoothing the mussed hair now visible. "And I can't do that any more. It's time you started handling these things on your own."

His eyes darted away momentarily, and then he scrambled to sit up, wrapping his arms around his long legs. "I don't want to handle these things on my own—I need you."

"No, you don't," she told him calmly, and gave him a reassuring smile. "Sure, you might be hurting now, but you're most grown-up I've ever seen you—and what kind of mother would I be if I kept you as my baby forever?"

Sheldon frowned. "I'm not a baby…"

"You and Amy are meant for each other, and with a little work, you will find each other again," she said, cradling the stubble on his cheek. "The Lord will guide you soon enough."

She had expected a snide remark, but instead he licked his lower lip nervously, staring at the wall. "I'm scared," he told her, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

"Well, Sheldon, it is scary," she said, and took a breath, "opening your heart up to somebody."

Shuffling his weight, he nodded tightly, and wrapped his arms around her petite frame. "Thanks, Mom," he whispered, and broke away before she could enjoy the moment further. "You go back out, I need a moment."

Mary did as he requested, and slipped out of his bedroom, closing the door behind her gently. The group had settled after the unexpected interruption, and she could hear them chatting away in the living room happily. She let out a long, shaky sigh and rubbed her hand over her forehead. That boy would be the death of her, some day…

"Mrs Cooper?" Bernadette's chirpy voice sounded from the dim hallway, and it was only then that she noticed her presence. "Could I speak to you for a moment?"

Smiling at her, Mary nodded. "Why, of course dear, what can I help you with?"

"Well, it's more what _I _can help _you _with," she said softly, and drew her away from Sheldon's door. "Given that, uh, your mission to help Sheldon out didn't exactly work, I was wondering if you felt it would be appropriate he _see someone, _for his issues."

"'See someone'?" she queried, frowning. "Like a pastor?"

"No," Bernadette said, and checked over her shoulder for Sheldon. "Like a _psychologist_."

Mary pursed her lips and considered he suggestion. "Well, as much as I would prefer he sort out his mental problems with Jesus, I don't think we have much other option…"

Bernadette nodded, and tucked a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear. "A colleague and good friend of mine would be more than happy to work with Sheldon without compensation," she said, and hesitated. "She has heard a lot about Sheldon from me, and knows of his work."

Taking another deep breath, Mary clasped her hands together. "What have we got to lose?"

* * *

George stretched out his long legs in front of him, settling his feet on the bottom step as he stared at the worn carpet hugging the staircase. He had been sent out of Sheldon and Leonard's apartment some minutes ago by his grandmother, who had strictly told him to wait outside for her. He felt riled at the turn of events, and in an effort to contain himself from kicking Sheldon's bedroom door in, he had obliged, and taken a seat on the steps close to Penny's apartment.

He knew coming to Sheldon's apartment had been a bad idea, and he knew that he could have easily convinced his mother to stop by the following morning before their departure. But amongst all the drama with his younger brother, and a shot of liquid courage, he had decided that he did want to confront him, and tell him how it was. "Not that I got a chance," he grumbled, and picked at the calloused skin on his fingers aggressively.

"Junior," Meemaw said, slipping out of Sheldon's apartment and shutting the door behind her. "I am so disappointed in you."

Clenching his teeth, he hung his head, and could sense her approaching, her shadow encasing his hunched figure. "Everyone always is," he said dryly.

"That's where you're wrong," she said, and she indicated for him to shuffle over. He did so, and helped her take a shaky seat beside him. "Despite everything that happened with the delightful Miss Beldon, you had—in my eyes—been nothing but honourable. It may have been your mother's word that sealed the deal, but you moved out here all on your own, and I had never been prouder of you."

"Had," he repeated, and continued to pick at his hands, dangling between his legs.

She was silent for a moment, but he didn't mind—he enjoyed the scent of her perfume, and the slight edge to her every breath. "I know that, with your tastes, it's hard to find a young woman to call your own—a young woman who accepts you for you," she said quietly. "And I can see by the look on your face that this one is different—"

He snapped his head up and angled himself toward her. "She _is_, Meemaw, she's perfect—"

"_But,_" she cut in, holding up her hand, "you can't go hurting your brother, not after everything he's been through, too."

He shook his head. "Everything _he's _been through," he said bitterly, and looked away from her. "This is Amy's decision, not mine, and not Sheldon's."

With a small smile, she nodded. "That's right, and you need to respect that decision—whatever it may be," she wrapped her hand around his toned forearm, flicking her fingers across his skin comfortingly. "Don't be the one to hurt him, or yourself."

* * *

Amy stared down into the empty petri dish laying neatly on her counter, and the blank journal entry beside it. The pen between her fingers had drooped numerous times, and her eyes were growing heavier by the minute. She brushed the hair from her forehead and checked her watch—only nine-fifteen, and she just didn't want to go home yet.

It was all of the _dreams _she was having—about Sheldon, about George. About her own mother screaming at her, telling her each detail of everything she'd ever done wrong. It had been her intention to create a log, and to study the patterns—turn this ugly situation into something beneficial, something scientific. Instead, her mind was clouded with emotion, when all she wanted was to feel objective and indifferent.

_I'd rather not feel at all, _she thought.

In all of the romance novels she had read, she had learned about what it was to feel _in love, _or to feel _enticed. _The cliché deductions: racing heartbeats, goose bumps, excited nerves, _happiness. _She felt them all, except for the very last.


	20. Chapter 20

**The Specious Sibling Ultimatum **

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor do I profit from The Big Bang Theory or any of its related characters.

_Author's Note: _Told you I wouldn't be too slow...and despite my outburst, I'm cool and have posted a new chapter. Haha. Enjoy, and don't forget to review.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

"_Mr Cooper, Mrs Cooper…I think your son would benefit greatly from seeing our school counsellor,"_ she told them, and he could almost _see_ the way she folded her large hands on the hardwood desk, eyeing them both seriously from behind her eyeglasses. _"He had been exhibiting some…unusual behaviour."_

Why the elementary school believed that allowing a child to sit in the hallway outside the principal's whilst a meeting was being held between parent and teacher was no mystery to him—all it took was a deliberately open window above, and a well positioned, highly uncomfortable chair, and the student was well aware of his wrongdoings. The school _wanted _it that way. Nevertheless, he sat squarely in the padded chair, his elbows digging in to the metal armrests, and eavesdropped on the conversation—one of his many, many talents.

"…_unlike his brother, Sheldon has been demonstrating some rather anti-social behaviour…"_

"…_has a tendency to isolate himself, and make others aware of his intelligence…"_

"…_no interest in social activities, often lashes out at other teachers and students…"_

"…_we wonder if these sort of troubles begin in the home, could there be reason for his issues…"_

"…_seeing someone could fix a lot of these problems—there's no reason why he can't be bright _and _normal…"_

The door opened, flinging into the wall with a crack, and his mother marched out, grasping him by the shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with my boy!" she shouted, and he could hear the waver in her voice. "Come on, George, we're leaving…"

And for the sixth time that week, every student stared at him as he walked straight out the door.

* * *

"Alright now, Sheldon, Leonard—the two off to work now, Penny's got us sorted for the ride out to the airport," Mary Cooper said quickly, looping her slender fingers through the handle of her suitcase and dragging it down the hallway.

Leonard grinned and rushed for the front door, swinging it open for her gallantly. "Thanks so much for coming on such short notice," he said.

"You are most welcome—anything for my Shelly," she smiled, and watched her youngest son, trailing alongside his grandmother, her luggage in her arms. "Just keep an eye on him, but I think he'll be alright."

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Leonard tilted his head from side to side uncertainly. "Oh, I hope you're right Mrs Cooper..."

"You take care on the flight home Meemaw—it may only be a three hour flight but it's crucial that you move about regularly—exercise your calf and foot muscles to lessen the likelihood of deep vein thrombosis, and be sure to drink plenty of water; those cabins are notorious for spreading germs," Sheldon told his grandmother as they neared the doorway. "I do wish you'd taken the train..."

Her own mother smiled up at her grandson, and cupped his cheek affectionately. "Well, a train most certainly wouldn't have brought us to you as quickly now would it?" she patted his cheek lightly, and sighed. "Come visit your Meemaw a little more often, she misses her dear Moonpie!"

There was a stifled chuckle in the doorway, and Mary found Penny watching on warmly. "Come on, Moonpie, you wouldn't want your mom and your Meemaw to miss their flight."

Locking her handbag underneath her arm, Mary wrapped her arms tightly around her tall boy. "You take care of yourself," she said quietly into his ear. "I know you can do this, all on your own."

She felt him swallow against her shoulder, and when she pulled back, his lips were in a tight, fine line. "Thanks, Mom," he said stiffly, and then forced a small smile. "I will."

"Come here!" his grandmother gushed, opening her arms to welcome him into her embrace. At almost a foot taller than her, Sheldon slumped over and enveloped her small, plump frame. "It's been lovely to see you, Shelly."

"You too, Meemaw," Mary heard Sheldon say quietly as she fussed over the bags Penny and Leonard were carrying down the stairwell. "Your coming all this way meant a lot to me."

He detangled himself awkwardly and Mary smiled as she spied him touching the tips of his fingers to her pearly hair clip, holding back long strands of silvery, grey hair. "Remember what I told you—embrace everything that makes you _you_; what the good Lord gave you," Grace said to him softly. "She'll come back to you, if you do."

"Alright Mrs C, Meemaw," Penny said, popping her head around the door frame. "We'd better get going if we're gonna beat the rush hour traffic."

After a stalled goodbye to her son and his best friend, Mary and her mother settled into Penny's car for the trip to the airport. Taking a deep breath, Mary quelled the anxiety in her stomach, fuelled by the fear of leaving her vulnerable son on his own. "Mrs Cooper?" Penny said, tapping her hand to get her attention. "You ready to go?"

"Yes, dear," she replied, looking forward. "There's just one last stop I'd like to make."

* * *

The rumble of her boiling kettle filled her small apartment, and Amy watched the steam waft into the air absently. She was up, dressed and ready for work, but didn't start for another hour—her overtired body forcing her from the warmth of her bed at some ungodly hour. Sighing, she blinked her dry eyes and poured the hot water into her mug, the citrusy scent of her tea rising to fill her senses. "Ah, tea," she murmured, spinning the teaspoon around and around. "What would I do without you?"

There were small slivers of light creeping into her apartment, but the only light she had switched on was the one above her stove, sending her home into an eerie, sullen state for such an early hour of the morning. She leant against the counter and sipped at her drink, watching as advertisements flicked across her television screen in the living room. The gentle chatter of sound broke through the stillness that had seemed to have moved in permanently as of late, buzzing gently in the background.

A quiet knock at the door caused her to jump, spilling warm liquid down the front of her green cardigan. "Dammit," she muttered, dabbing at the spot with a nearby dishcloth. "Hold on!"

Grumbling, she ambled over to the door and swung it open, and instantly felt her guard go up and her jaw drop. Standing before her was the unmistakable Mary Cooper, brown bob combed into place and her hands clasped gently in front of her body. Amy tightened her grip on the doorframe, shielding her body somewhat, before noticing that there was _another _figure standing behind the Southern mother—someone with a kind face and waved, silvery hair. "Mrs Cooper," she said uneasily. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," she replied vaguely, giving her a half-smile. "We were just in the area and figured we'd drop by. I hope this isn't an inconvenient time—Penny seemed to think you wouldn't start work just yet…"

"Well, it's not—and no, I don't—" Amy fumbled in response, but Mary made her way inside regardless, her companion—who looked suspiciously like a certain family member she'd heard plenty about behind—following behind her uncertainly.

"This is my mother, Mrs Hardman," Mary explained, taking the door from Amy's hands and closing it quietly. "I came over to visit Sheldon and George, and she decided she would join me on my expedition."

Amy, who stood a little dumbfounded in the doorway, gazed at the neatly dressed elderly woman. "You're Sheldon's Meemaw?" she asked.

"Yes, dear," she said, and gave her a smile, familiar blue eyes sweeping over her swiftly. "You can call me Grace, if you would like."

Clearing her throat, Mary grabbed hold of her mother's elbow and steered her toward the couch, where they both took a seat. "We don't intend on staying long—we have a plane to catch and Penny is waiting patiently in the car," she said, and then motioned for her to join them. "Please, sit."

Amy frowned and sat in the armchair, baffled as to why this woman was asking her to take a seat in her _own _home, and why her best friend had—seemingly—brought them over without question. She attempted to sit straight and appear assertive, but knew the weary hunch in her shoulders gave it all away. "I'm a little uncertain as to why you're here," she began slowly, and paused. "You do know that Sheldon and I terminated our relationship, don't you?"

Mary nodded. "Well, yes—actually that's why we're here—"

"I wanted to meet the young woman that stole my Moonpie's heart," Grace interrupted, placing a hand on her daughter's knee to quieten her. "With my old age and the trials that seem to be before you, I'd hate to pass up such a wonderful opportunity."

Feeling her heart thump against her ribcage, Amy sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry," she said, and gave the old woman a kind smile. "Are you _completely _aware of the circumstances surrounding my break-up with Sheldon? If so, I would seriously doubt that you would want to meet me."

Crossing one slim leg over the other, Mary shook her head. "We don't blame you for this messy situation, Amy," she said. "It seems that there is fault on all sides."

"Our Sheldon can be mighty difficult, at best," Grace said with a laugh. "And George, he can be…well…" She smiled when words failed her. "He's a good boy."

Amy remained quiet, feeling particularly uncomfortable. Why had they come to her apartment? Was this some kind of intervention, or were they here to make her feel guilty for the things she had done? For the things she _hadn't _done? "Mrs Cooper," she said finally, looking at her. "This must be awfully difficult for you."

Mary looked to the roof, and let out a long sigh. "Amy, all my life I have fought for what is best for _each _of my children—both as a family unit, and individually," she paused, and looked back at her. "I love them equally, and they've all made their mistakes, but haven't we all?"

Amy noticed Grace's grey bun bobbing in agreeance beside her, and felt herself grow curious. "What happened with George?" she asked quietly. Was it the wrong question to be asking at such a time? Probably—but no one else was giving her any answers.

The tension in the room thickened, almost instantly, and Mary was clearly contemplating her query. "Ever since Junior was a boy, I knew there was something…not quite right with him," she said slowly. "Sheldon—well, I could spot his troubles a mile off, and as much as a lot of what he said to me made no sense, I understood he was unique. His older brother, however…well, he was curious. Like Shelly, he wanted control; control over everything he touched and knew. _Unlike _Shelly, he knew exactly how to get it if the tables turned."

Amy sat deathly still, listening to a revelation that seemed so intimate. She spoke of her boys like they were a puzzle—one she started around the edges but had trouble piecing together in the middle.

"It didn't take much under regular circumstances, the good Lord blessed that young man with a handsome face, but on those days where he wanted something—and when George wanted something, he _wanted _it—he would flash a smile and a good few words and poof!" Mary flicked out her fingers as way of explanation, and shook her head. "Like his daddy, that boy, and I knew one day it would get him into trouble."

Mary stopped, and for the first time, looked genuinely apprehensive, looking to her mother and back again. "It isn't my place to tell you what happened between George and Clara—that is something he needs to tell you himself," she said. "If he cares for you, he'll tell you everything."

Nodding, Amy looked into her lap. The ever-present question: did he care for her?

"Amy," Grace's slightly gruff, accented voice sounded. "This decision is ultimately your own, but don't let yourself be led," she said, and looked her directly in the eye. "By either of them."

There was a silence between the women, and Mary began to rise. "We should leave you in peace," she began, and as Amy rose with her, she took a large breath and sat again. "No—there's something else I'd like to say."

Amy said nothing, instead watched the pondering mother nervously, heart knocking against her chest. Adjacent her, Grace looked as though she were holding back; holding her breath.

"It seemed to me that, for a long time, you were willing to do everything you could to be with my Sheldon," she started, her voice wavering the tiniest amount. "I could sit here and demand to know what happened; ask you what changed, but that would be selfish of me," she pressed her lips together, blinking away the sheen her eyes had taken on. "I know what it's like to be a woman, alone."

"Mrs Cooper—" Amy began, ready to stop her in her tracks; she didn't need her sympathy—she didn't deserve it.

Mary ignored her, and reached over to clasp her hand. "My boys are their father's sons, there's no point denying that—no amount of coddling on my part can tear out the selfish streak they possess," she said, and gave her hand a squeeze. "But I never thought I'd see the day a young woman took an interest in Sheldon; devoted the time and patience he needed into a _real _relationship, until I saw you—sitting on that couch beside him like you were his other half. Never had I seen two people more perfectly suited to one another," she smiled, and Amy felt her throat constrict. "That said, you've gotta be happy too, and there's nothing wrong with wanting more…more than what my Shelly can give you."

Amy couldn't help it—a single teardrop slipped over the threshold and down her cheek, and she fought the urge to shake. "I'm sorry…" she began thickly, but Mary wouldn't have it.

"No," she said, holding up her hand to silence her. "Don't be. Just trust me on something…sometimes the Lord knows exactly when to throw you a curveball—sometimes he's aiming straight for someone's brilliantly _stupid _head," she laughed, and Amy saw Grace smirk lightly. "Don't give up on him, Amy."

Long after they left her apartment, and long after the shock of their peaceful inquisition wore off, Amy realised that she hadn't responded Mary Cooper's request. She realised, after a while, that she'd never given up in the first place.

* * *

The bar was dark, and the patrons were slowly, but very surely, filing out for the evening. George swished the cloth across the counter for the last time and tossed it over his shoulder, yawning as he stacked hot, clean glasses on the shelf behind him.

He felt drained after his trying visit from his mother and grandmother, and heated argument with Sheldon the evening prior. The warmly lit bar blurred at the edges of his vision, and he blinked his tired eyes, leaning the palms of his hands on the bench top. After huddling against his Meemaw on the staircase outside Penny's apartment, he had rushed down the stairs and intended to head straight home—but was intercepted by his mother on the way out. Sighing, he reflected on the conversation, and ground his teeth.

"_Look, Meemaw's already told me how disappointed she is in me, and clearly you just set me up to fail so I'm leaving before—" he had started, a cold wind rushing through the partially opened doorway he held open as he waited for her response._

"_I'm sorry, George," she had muttered in response; something that he couldn't recall her doing in his entire lifetime. "I shouldn't have suggested you come."_

_He had let the door shut with a bang, and turned to face her, hands jammed in his pockets. "To Sheldon's?" he then asked angrily. "Or to California?"_

"_George—don't start, you had to get away from that girl—"_

"_No, _Mom_," he had growled, finished with this night, this entire day. "I had to get away from your reputation, from all the rumours I had caused; I had to disappear, and you had no problem getting rid of me."_

"_That is not true—"_

_He had glared at her small frame in the stairwell icily, and made for the door once again. "It is," he told her. "And by the way, I told 'that girl' to stay the hell out of my life—and I'm this close to telling you to do the same."_

He cringed at the memory—one after which he had sped home and drunk a considerable amount of whiskey; enough to put him to sleep, no questions asked. His mother hadn't deserved such an outburst, he kept telling himself, and he should really apologise—but the loneliness in his apartment and the tug in his chest told him otherwise.

The stool behind him scraped on the linoleum floor and he glanced up into the mirrored splash back, and gazing back at him was a familiar brunette scientist. "Amy," he said deeply, smirking as he turned to her. She looked awkward, leaning her cardigan-clad arms on the counter and peering up at him from behind her glasses. _Perfectly_ awkward. "What can I get for you?"

She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and sat up a little straighter. "You're closing up," she said, cocking her head. "Why make unnecessary work for yourself?"

"_You_ are not unnecessary work for me," he said with a grin, and watched her glance away, squirming under his stare. "Wine? Vodka and raspberry? Shot of tequila?"

"Water, please."

Nodding, he filled up a tall glass and slid it to her, and then snatched up a beer from the fridge nearby for himself and cracked the seal, taking a long swig. "What are you doing here?" _When I thought you needed some time, _he thought.

"Your mother came by today," she said, tracing the rim of her glass with the tip of her finger gingerly. "And your Meemaw."

George felt his jaw clench, and leant his weight down onto his forearms. "What happened?"

"Not a lot actually transpired," she said, and squinted a little. "She was pleasant, as was your grandmother—in fact, they were adamant in telling me that it was my choice which brother I chose, giving me a rundown on the pros and cons of each of you individually—"

George groaned. "I cannot _believe _she went to see you, she has no right…"

"Ultimately they clearly were in favour of my being with Sheldon, but left without a fight, just a few wise words," she smiled and shrugged, somewhat indifferent. "It was strange."

He stared at her, and then frowned. "_You're_ acting very strange," he told her.

Oddly enough, she stared straight back. "I don't really know how to feel, George," she said, and something as simple as his name on her lips in general conversation made his skin tingle. "I am a woman of definitive answers and logic and reason, and there is not one thing about this situation that is definitive or logical or reasoned."

"Okay," he said slowly, bothered by the speed at which she was speaking. "You said you needed some time…and now you're here, Amy. Why are you here?"

She sipped at her drink and placed the glass down. "I don't know," she said loosely. "Here are the things I _do _know: I still have feelings for Sheldon, who wants nothing to do with me ever again; I have this…this _desire _to be with you intimately that is destroying everything around me, something I have _never _experienced before; and I know that doing nothing, even though I don't have the correct answer, is destroying _me _inside," she breathed deeply and looked at him. "But still—I don't know."

The bar had grown darker around them, his colleagues yelling out goodnights and bolting the front door behind them. He watched her hands fiddle with the edge of her cardigan, and the way her chest rose and fell from her surge of emotion. In this light, in this empty bar, she looked as out-of-place and odd and sexy as he'd ever seen her.

"Maybe," he started, his voice gravelly, "you _should _do something?"

She was quiet for some time, and he could tell she was skirting around his suggestive proposal. "There is something wrong with me," she said finally, looking up at him. "There _must _be. Penny and Bernadette, they look at me like I'm crazy for wanting to be with you—like I'm crazy for putting intimacy first," she shook her head. "Which makes absolutely no sense, when all this time it's been _them _telling me to push Sheldon in the right direction."

His beer long forgotten, George watched her intently, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "You're not crazy, Amy," he said. "There's nothing wrong with wanting _more _from your relationship."

"That's just the thing," she said, her voice suddenly full of emotion. "I _know _that—but biological urges aside, I can't help but feel…like I'm _wrong._"

George stared at the brunette, with her unfocused green gaze locked on the stretch of nothingness between them. A churning sensation rolled in his stomach, and he felt as though he were talking to himself; holding the same conversation he had mulled over and over.

"You have no idea how it feels to question your relationship—to _wonder _whether you're good enough; patient enough; smart enough," Amy said sadly. "And then to feel like the weak one when you have to walk away."

"I do understand that," George said genuinely, and circled around the bar to meet her on her side. "And _you _weren't the weak one who walked away—he was."

She had spun on her stool to face him, her brown flats hooked on the metal leg rest, and he found himself standing right in front of her, so close. "Perhaps not," she said, glancing up at his tall form. "But I went to you, and now I don't want to stay away."

Emerald green eyes looked up at him from behind chunky glasses, and he huffed, squeezing his eyes shut. He wanted her as _his_. He wanted to throw her onto the bar and mark her as his, to tie those dainty ankles to her stool and never let her leave. "Amy," he said, like a warning. "I want to be a gentleman, and I want to give you the time you need, but you're not making this easy—popping over to my apartment, to my workplace," he grit his teeth together. "_Please…_I can give you what you want—what he _can't_."

Amy chewed her lip and looked away, making it only more difficult. "A couple more days," she said, and moved to slip off the stool, but before she could, he grasped her hips. "George…"

Truth be told, he didn't know why he had held in place like he did, or why he stared down at her for as long as he did. She didn't protest; simply waited. "Okay," he whispered, and dropped his neck to place his lips against hers in a gentle kiss.

* * *

"Sheldon, there's someone I would like you to meet."

Sheldon glanced up from his seat, where he had been busily sorting his French fries in order of size and thickness, to greet a smiling Bernadette, and an unknown figure alongside her. "Oh?" he asked, returning to his dinner and carefully wiping the greasy tips of his fingers on the napkin in his lap. Howard and Bernadette had invited he and Leonard out to dinner at The Cheesecake Factory, and after some debate, he had begrudgingly accepted to go along.

"Sheldon," he heard Leonard hiss from beside him, followed by a sharp kick to his shin, "you're being rude!"

Grumbling, he looked up, and the young woman who stood before him smiled brightly and held out her hand, and he wondered briefly whether she were much taller than Bernadette. When he continued to stare at her outstretched gesture, she dropped it and her smile tightened. "Dr Cooper," she said, and the slight huskiness of her voice appealed to him. "It's nice to meet you, I've heard a lot."

He eyed her sceptically as Bernadette ushered her into a seat at the head of the table, right beside him, and took a seat herself alongside her husband. "This is Madison Baker—she works down the hall from me," Bernadette explained, and he didn't shift his gaze from the woman for a second. "She's a good friend of mine, so be nice…"

Madison gave Bernadette a sidelong glance and smirked, before looking back to Sheldon. "You can call me Maddie," she told him.

"Mmm," he hummed in response, and tilted his head awkwardly. Her honey-like blonde hair sat just above her shoulders in fluffy curls, and was cut asymmetrically, one side considerably longer than the other. It was disconcerting, to say the least. "If you're going to have a regular presence in my life—which I sense you are, given that I'm the only individual at this table who hasn't met you before—then I'm going to have to request you tie back that absurd hairstyle."

She laughed, and hushed the scowl that had fallen over Bernadette. "Not a problem, Dr Cooper, anything that will make you feel more comfortable," she said simply, and he noticed her light eyes roam over him quickly, evaluating him.

"Maddie, hey!" Penny said brightly as she bounced over to their table, pad and pen in hand. "What can I get you all? Except for Sheldon, who insisted on ordering his meal before everyone else…"

Frowning, he returned to his burger and diet Coke, only to find that—oddly—his appetite had ceased. He took a sip of his drink and straightened the fork beside him, before looking up to the golden-haired stranger next to him. "If you're here to try and take her place, you've got another thing coming," he said stiffly, and expected her to look surprised—instead, she leant forward and cocked her head. It threw him. "She—you can't—"

Howard groaned from across the table. "Sheldon, give it a rest…"

"Yes, _Sheldon_, do give it a rest…" Bernadette agreed, glaring at him.

"It's fine," Madison said swiftly—too swiftly. "I'm sorry to hear about your recent break-up, Dr Cooper—Bernadette filled me in—but I can assure you I am not here to take anyone's place in your social group."

Sheldon narrowed his eyes at her, and she simply smiled in return. What _was _this woman? "Alright," he said, sitting up a little straighter.

"So, Maddie," Leonard said, skipping over the awkward lull in conversation. "What do you do?"

Madison sat back in her seat, and politely thanked Penny as she brought over her drink. "Oh, you know—I help out in the lab, bit of paperwork," she said vaguely, and smiled. "That sort of thing."

"Maddie hasn't been on board with our team for very long—she only just moved here," Bernadette said quickly. "From…"

"Seattle," Madison said, and Sheldon found himself nodding—that accent making perfect sense. "Penny and Bernadette have been great—shown me around Pasadena, it's been wonderful."

Leonard nodded. "That's great," he said. "Oh—Howard, did you and Raj end up seeing the new Star Trek movie? I hear it's great."

"Yeah," Howard mumbled, his mouth full of food. "I tell you what—Carol Marcus in underwear was ho—ow!" he grimaced, rubbing where Bernadette had slapped him on the arm. "Horrible…just horrible…"

"I thought Benedict Cumberbatch was amazing," Madison piped up from beside him, carving through her chicken with her knife and fork. "I thought he made a fantastic Khan—he's so handsome…"

"_You _like Star Trek?" Sheldon said abruptly.

She tipped her head from side to side as she chewed. "Next Generation, yeah, and the movies," she said, and tucked a strand of her odd hair behind her ear. "I loved Zachary Quinto as Spock…"

Sheldon found himself intrigued, and sat back, his arms folded over his chest. "Oh, don't even get me started, woman," he warned, and shook his head. "We'll be here all night."

She grinned. "Try me."

Now, Sheldon Cooper was no idiot. He knew _exactly _what this woman was.

* * *

The following morning, after a long evening of heated debate about the many faces of Star Trek between he, Howard, Leonard and Maddie—as she had _insisted _she call him—that had cost them nearly more in tips to Penny than it had on their meals combined, Sheldon had leapt out of bed and headed for the bus stop. For the first night in many, he had slept somewhat soundly—waking only once, a record, of late.

Now, nearly a week after the impromptu visit from his mother and grandmother, Sheldon walked through the quiet corridors of SGC Pharmaceuticals, and felt more focused than he had in weeks. Despite the dreams—the thoughts of his former girlfriend, his brother, his father, his childhood—he felt oddly numb, and ready to take _a _step, in whichever direction that may be.

"Bernadette?"

In spite of the office door being wide open, Sheldon knocked in quick succession and waited for the tiny blonde to look up from her work. Her workspace was immaculate, save for the piles of paperwork nearly drowning the microbiologist.

"What is it, Sheldon?" she said tiredly, once she had glanced up from her documents.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," he said hastily, shuffling in the doorway. As determined as he may have first felt, words seemed to be escaping him. "That lab coat is far too large for your frame."

Bernadette put down her pen and sighed, leaning back in her chair. "You think I don't know that?" she said, and pushed up the long sleeves to prove the point. "What can I do for you?"

He approached her desk and leant on the edge awkwardly. "I was wondering if you could, um…" he pursed his lips and tried again. "Um—"

She scowled at his hesitance. "Sheldon, I have no idea why you've just turned up in my office but I have lots to do so—"

"Could you please direct me to Maddie's office?" he asked quickly, dropping his eyes to the floor. "I was hoping to see her if possible."

Bernadette eyed him, clearly surprised by his request. "Sure," she said slowly, and tilted her head. "You came all this way to see Maddie?"

"Yes," he confirmed, and tilted his head in response. "Is that a problem?"

She opened her mouth to say something, and then snapped it shut. "Not at all," she said. "Follow the hall around to the right, and her office is second on your left."

"Thank you," he said, and shuffled out of the room quickly. He heard Bernadette chuckle a 'you're welcome' as he hurried down the hallway, averting his eyes from the staff passing him. Around to the right, and second on his left…

"Dr Cooper!" Maddie said brightly, already up and out of her seat, void of a lab coat as should be expected. In its place was a perfectly pressed grey skirt and blouse, and she had a pen tucked behind her ear. He also noticed that her hair was piled neatly atop her head. "What a pleasant surprise."

Sheldon took a moment to continue eyeing her, and then closed the office door behind him. He flexed his fingers nervously, and dove straight in.

"I know what you are, _Doctor _Baker," he said, and sucked in a breath. "And I want you to help me."


End file.
